I Can't Give You Anything But Love
by Dinosaur Barbecue
Summary: Gangsters, magic, & moonshine abounds as one man makes a deal with a high-spirited girl who just might be his ticket out of New York. She turns his precarious world on its head, and the secrets they are both hiding threaten to change their lives forever.
1. Chapter One

Tangled belongs to Disney, and I'm writing this. A word of warning: try as I might, I could not fit Pascal into the story. If you can forgive me that much, keep on reading, and enjoy.

* * *

I Can't Give You Anything But Love

Chapter One

Men bellowed, children shouted. Car engines sputtered and stomped alongside the rushing Els. Music spilled out onto the street from the cafes and houses of Harlem; students jostled for places in ticket lines beneath the blazing lights of Broadway. Women who were seamstresses and mothers by day became glittering jewels of a new and changing world by night, taking up the reins faster than the men around them could comprehend. Uptown was bright with the newest of fashions and ideas, and at the wharfs, shining steamships slid in beside drudging cargo carriers that brimmed with rumors and goods. Elbows and knees jostled for stretching space inside the narrow homes of the ghetto, and sharp-dressed gangsters took advantage of a populace now thirsting in a great city gone dry. The fervor of the Great War had been transformed in the face of perpetual human progress; as people had lost room to spread out, many of them began to build _up. _

The business of expanding into the blue was still finding its feet, but doing so fearlessly. Sumptuous apartments rose over the busy and bustling streets, giving haughty views to the wealthy and bourgeois that had chosen a new life in a city reborn. Of all of these, it was one built at the turn of the century (and, oh, what a turn it was!) that was the symbol of the audacity, the gall of man: the Ansonia, the crown jewel of Broadway and Amsterdam, with its copper-plated cornices and outstanding turrets, constructed of pale stone into a demanding façade of French style. The self-fashioned "grandest hotel in Manhattan," it commanded the attention of all that passed by with its seventeen stories of glass and iron windows. But it was the central tower, stretching another eight stories upward from the building's center, that captured the imagination of New York City, thrusting its inhabitants somewhere unreachable, away from the dirty politics and gang warfare, like a fantastic castle in the sky.

And kept the city below forever out of reach.

The top of the world was hard to see from the sidewalk. If anybody had been able to, they might have been alarmed by the sight of a young woman-not much more than a girl, really-lounging carelessly in an open window at the tower's top floor, braced against the cold breeze that flung itself against her tower. She was dressed unfashionably, with long sleeves and skirts that differed so greatly from the adverts of stylish women that were folded in between the pages of the newspaper. Her figure, though slim, was not narrow-hipped enough to embody the boyish look that was common among girls her age, though she could hardly mind. It was her hair that would set her apart from most ladies-while they wore it close-cropped, a symbol of growing independence and rebellion, hers streamed out the window like a ten-foot blonde pennant.

In her lap, the girl kept tight fingers on a sketchpad, just one of many that she had come to own over the course of a lifetime. Her right hand was black with charcoal, and the same substance peppered her face, filling in the spaces between freckles. Her green eyes were quick as she placed a few masterful strokes here and there, rounding out her subject; not a moment later, she dropped her charcoal to snatch up the pair of binoculars she kept at her side. It did not take her long to recover her quarry, even from this high up: an older woman who strode down the block with her purse on one arm and a small dog under the other, it was her hat that drew the attention of passerby-garishly large, it overflowed with fake flowers, fruits, and ribbons.

Rapunzel set her binoculars down again and finished off the woman's portrait. This was only one of innumerable pictures she had made-some charcoal sketches, others oil, even watercolor-of all the people, places, and things of the Upper West Side that she could see from the Ansonia's windows. Some were copies of pictures in the newspaper, though she had to guess what colors since her sources were only black and white. Still, more were straight from her imagination, inspired by the books of her adequate library and what she imagined may lay beyond her mother's ornate apartment.

She set the sketchbook down on the table beside the window and drew herself inside, her great length of hair trailing after. Also on the table were remains of her breakfast, now cold and stale. As her bare toes touched the floor, she took care not to step on the _Times_, its pages rustling. The front shouted that today, Armistice Day, was stronger than ever, a celebration of unity in the Western world.

The noise of the street did not carry up to her window. All that distracted Rapunzel's ears was the radio, and as the piano of Jelly Roll Morton faded out, it was replaced by a man speaking with a quick, Brooklynite affectation:

"_November eleventh, nineteen twenty-six. What a day to be alive in America, friends, while we commemorate the end of the war eight years later. I have with me today a very special guest, who fought bravely on the foreign front. Tell me, Captain, just what was it like-"_

She crossed to the shelf that lined one wall and flicked the radio off with a sigh, finding no real interest in whatever the people on the radio chose to yammer on about today. No, her mind was already abuzz with her own current events, and as she strode from room to room, she tried to find a way to phrase her request that had been repeated many times over the years.

"_Mother, can't I just go outside?"_

The inside of the tower reflected a muted version of the outside's grandeur. The walls were painted all varieties of ivories and pastels, leaving little to wanting. The parlor, where she had just been, was an open space with a few couches and paintings (not hers, no, they were gifts of priceless works by the masters of the day) and an open archway leading to a graceful, oval dining room. The table was too large for the two women who lived there, though occasionally, Rapunzel's mother did have guests. She was not permitted to leave her room then, which suited her fine (mostly) because her window granted her a sweeping view of Amsterdam Avenue. Often times she would be able to sneak from her bedroom and into the library, the sort of room that most of the Ansonia's residents took for granted-but she didn't know that. She knew she had neighbors somewhere down below, but she had never met them. She did not even know their names.

Still, her mother's apartment was brilliant and chic, and the building was the first air-conditioned of its kind, keeping the residents cool in the summer, warm in the winter. The walls had been built thick with musicians in mind, one of the reasons her mother had chosen to live here. It was New York City's haven for the wealthy and well to do artists, and Rapunzel wanted nothing to do with it.

She hummed a few bars under her breath and felt the slight depression that had seized her that morning disappear. It was something about music, the way that it filled the air and strung emotions together, that always managed to cheer her up. She was lucky-music surrounded her, and the fact was punctuated by her dear darling Mother's arrival.

The door opened and closed noisily, and a throaty woman's voice called, "Rapunzel?"

Rapunzel strode back from the dining room to the parlor. Her mother was just beside the door, in the slight hall that ran the length of the apartment.

"Good morning, Mother," Rapunzel answered, returning the hug that Gothel had reached out for.

Her mother was a tall and slender woman, and managed to dress in a way that complimented her age and kept her at the height of fashion. Her curling black hair framed a bony face that had taken the years well, her bright blue eyes always keen and knowing. She stroked Rapunzel's hair as they embraced.

"Good morning, dear. Did anything come while I was out?"

Rapunzel had long admired her mother's air of serenity, despite her busy lifestyle. It had always been this way for as long as she could remember-her mother was in great demand around the high society clubs of New York and Chicago (and occasionally in Europe, though she rarely went abroad anymore.) Her voice seemed to call people to her, and whenever Rapunzel caught her mother's tune on the radio, she could hear why. Gothel Morse had voice that was deeper than any of the younger singing starlets of the day, but it was seductive in its tone, and every note pitch-perfect. Rapunzel was one of the lucky few who got to hear her in person on a regular basis, and she knew the secret behind her mother's success-but would never tell.

"Yes, ah, just a second," Rapunzel replied, sliding away from her mother and to the table that housed her breakfast. A few determined tugs freed an envelope that had become trapped beneath her plate of uneaten toast, and she handed it over to her mother, still sealed. Her mother opened it eagerly as Rapunzel waited politely beside her, equally curious as to what the envelope contained, ever since it had been slipped under the door a few hours before.

Her mother scanned the type-written letter rapidly once, then twice, then a _third _time. Rapunzel recognized the surprise, then anger, then frustration that crossed her mother's face. "What is it?"

Gothel inhaled and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Nothing. Nothing, darling." She placed the paper back in its envelope and set it aside on the credenza that cozied up to the parlor's wall. Massaging her temples, she asked, "Rehearsal was so draining this morning. Won't you sing for me, dear?"

Rapunzel could see the strain on her mother's face already; the fine lines that normally did not appear until late afternoon were surprising to see before eleven. "Right, of course, Mother."

She followed in her mother's sedate footsteps to one of the parlor's stiff couches. Their floral embroidery had long been memorized, enough so that she could recall even the most minute details in her dreams. Gothel eased herself down on one end with a soft groan, and Rapunzel perched beside her, back erect and hands in her lap as she inhaled.

Singing, she imagined, might be something similar to what running free felt like. Filling her lungs with the fresh outside air, stretching her legs behind the words that raced ahead.

"_Flower, gleam and glow. Let your power shine._"

It was hardly a song that would be popular if anybody else would hear it. It wasn't a song about love, or good times on the town, or any of the other subjects that warbled from the crooners that she listened to every day.

"_Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine._"

Rapunzel's nervous hands would not be stilled in her lap; as they often did when she sang, they moved to her hair, long enough that even when she pulled it over her shoulder, it pooled at her feet. She ran her hands over it impulsively, eyes closed.

"_Heal what has been hurt, change the fate's design…_"

She did not see Gothel watching her with a gaze that was at once maternal, yet hungry and jealous. The graying strands of the older woman's hair began to take on her preferred black luster, and the lines on her face disappeared. It was a transformation Rapunzel had seen many times before, and would willingly do so again and again. It was her gift that helped her mother and made her happy. It was her gift that made her special, and kept her locked away.

"_Save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine… What once was mine._"

Gothel had taught her the little spell when she'd been very small. She remembered her mother's delight when she'd first managed through the right notes all by herself. Rapunzel's eyelids slid open just in time to see Gothel lean forward to plant a kiss on her forehead.

"Thank you very much dear. You know just what it takes to really cheer me up. But I can't stay for long, I've got lunch with Governor Smith at one."

Rapunzel's brief smile went unseen as Gothel stood and began to move into the dining room. "Oh. Alright. I just wanted to ask you about tonight, actually, the Gala-"

"The Gala's been rescheduled dear."

"What?"

Rapunzel felt rather dim as she stood in the doorway, watching her mother round the table and rifle through the bowl of fruit at its center. "That was in the letter they sent this morning," Gothel clarified, her expression turning sour. "The Gala has been moved from tonight to the first of December." She sighed. "It only means that many more rehearsals I'll have to see to. I'm sorry dear."

"Oh, no, Mother, don't be sorry," Rapunzel thought she shouldn't be as excited as she sounded. "In fact, that's wonderful, because I was going to ask you, since I _really _want to go this year, but I suppose all the tickets have already been sold-"

"Rapunzel," Gothel frowned, but the excitable young woman would not be stopped in her rush to speak.

"-that maybe I could audition to perform _at _the Gala, as maybe one of your back up singers-"

"Rapunzel."

"-which would be perfect, since you taught me everything I know and I really think I can pull it off-"

"_Rapunzel._" Gothel's sharp tone finally silenced her, but the older woman's scowl softened as she returned to her side. Placing her hands on Rapunzel's slim shoulders, she admonished gently, "Flower, you know you can't go outside. It's dangerous."

"It doesn't seem so bad, Mother," Rapunzel argued. "I've seen it. From my window. And you do just fine."

"That is because I have the experience."

"Well," Rapunzel was thwarted by Gothel's perpetually calm exterior; it made her feel childish. "I want the experience too. I'm _eighteen_, and the world just looks so _exciting-_"

"Trust me, darling, it isn't." Gothel released her and walked back out into the parlor, moving to the window that had been Rapunzel's previous perch. "Look out there, really _look_."

Rapunzel obeyed. Far below, the antlike figures of people swarmed over the sidewalks, going about their businesses; what that business could be, Rapunzel could only imagine. Paperboys harked from street corners, but she couldn't hear them. Shop windows displayed dresses, books, and the latest household appliances that she had studied through her binoculars. The shrieking horn of an automobile reached her ears as she saw it, its metal carapace gleaming like a beetle as it swerved to avoid hitting a man as he dodged across the road.

"Do you really think any of them are happy down there?"

Gothel's question posed a quandary for the girl. "I don't know."

"Let me tell you, dear, they aren't," Gothel drew Rapunzel away from the window and back to the center of the room. "They have to work hard, day and night, to feed their families, and they don't even have room for all of their children in the tiny houses they have. And sometimes they don't even get to come home! Haven't you seen the papers?"

She produced the morning's issue, having plucked it up from where Rapunzel had left it on the floor. She opened to a particularly gruesome spread-half of the page was taken up by a photograph of the wreckage of a burnt-out building. The headline read, _BRONX FACTORY FIRE KILLS DOZENS, SCORES MISSING. _Rapunzel flinched at the disaster as Gothel flipped to another, and another: _GANG VIOLENCE TERRORIZES THE EAST SIDE. GORRILA MAN STRIKES AGAIN IN SAN FRANSISCO. CONEY ISLAND PROSTITUTION RING ROUTED. _

"You don't want to be out there. You want to be in here, safe and sound." Gothel flipped the paper shut and set it down before taking Rapunzel's chin in her fingers. "I know you want to sing, my dear, but you're special. If something were to happen to you, I don't know what I would do."

The grief in Gothel's eyes brought regret and apology crashing down around Rapunzel's ears. "I'm sorry, Mother," she said quickly, rushing to embrace her. "I know you only want what's best."

But what was _best _wasn't exactly what was the most _exciting. _

"That's my flower. I'll try not to be too long. You know you'll just have to ring for something if you get hungry."

"Yes, mother."

Gothel retrieved her coat from where it hung by the door, and was gone.

Rapunzel was already at the credenza, pulling the letter from its envelope to read it herself. Just as Gothel had said (not that she'd doubted her, of course-no one should ever doubt their mother!), it explained in no uncertain terms:

_Dear Miss Morse,_

_We regret to inform you that the third annual Winter Gala has been postponed due to unforeseen circumstances. As per your contract with the New York Entertainment Agency, we will require you to continue your schedule of rehearsals until the Gala's new date, the first of December._

_Thank you._

Rapunzel did not bother reading the signature before dropping the envelope. The ever-familiar feeling of distress had begun to assume its regular post, nagging her with the threat of missed opportunities and the mystery of what _really _was down on the ground. Returning to the window, she shrugged off her mother's words: the people didn't look all that miserable, but she would never know if she didn't get the courage to go find out for herself.

She pressed her binoculars to her eyes and watched the Ansonia's exit, and it did not take long for her mother to appear. Rapunzel watched her loiter at the sidewalk until a shining black Alfa Romeo pulled up to the curb. A burly, sharp-suited man stepped out to open the passenger door, and Gothel vanished once more.

Her mouth set in a determined line, Rapunzel slid from the windowsill and faced the pale room. She was decidedly bored of the whitewashed walls and the mild-mannered paintings of places she had never been but wanted to see. Her promise to her mother was forgotten as she gathered up her things, heading for her room. She wasn't sure what her plan was going to be, but she was going to attend the Gala, and see the city, whether Gothel wanted her to or not.

* * *

"I could get used to this."

Flynn Rider lounged in the back seat of the Alfa Romeo as it navigated the bustling West Side streets. He ignored the burning glares that were shot his way from the front, instead choosing to stare out at the pedestrians that passed by. In this part of Manhattan, they came in every variety of white and upper class.

He could hardly blame them. If he could, he would live here, too.

Though he didn't quite fit in with his aging, patched clothes, and the worn out jacket that did its best to fend off the chilly November air. His trousers were somewhat ragged at the ends, and speckled with coffee stains. His shoes were falling, quite literally, off of his feet.

He had a dock laborers tell-tale tan and fitting build, but unlike most of his coworkers, he had a self-assured smugness that was at once charming and infuriating. Mostly infuriating to his less-than-legal colleagues as the driver pulled over to the side of the block.

"Are we there already?" His voice was colored by genuine disappointment. The passenger in the front seat turned and seared him with his one good eye.

"No futzing around, Rider. You do this right, and we don't have to see you again."

The men in the front seats were identical but for the younger's ocular deficiency. Large enough to fill the car uncomfortably, they had the same scalding demeanor and ferocious dislike for Flynn.

He couldn't say he enjoyed the Stabbingtons that much in return. They were glorified babysitters, making sure he did his job, and did it right, for the family. If he didn't, well, they would become less like watchers and more like executioners.

"And even then, it'd be too soon," added the driver, the older of the two. "You remember what you're supposed to do, don't ya?"

Flynn's expression became bored, like a schoolboy repeating a lesson long memorized. "Yes. Find Morse's apartment at the top, find the rock, meet you on West Fifty-first and Broadway. Not that hard." He added, "And what about the old lady?"

"Don't worry about her, we'll take care of Morse."

Flynn opened the door with one hand and clapped the younger Stabbington's shoulder with the other. "Try not to miss me too much, Junior," he said, slamming the door shut before the thug could answer.

He immediately had to leapfrog another few steps forward to avoid getting mowed down by another automobile that jerked right to avoid him. The car's horn was not loud enough to drown out the string of profanities that followed, but Flynn only answered by tugging down on the bill of his flat cap in a mocking salute. As soon as the offended driver and the Romeo were out of sight, he turned to face the Ansonia, the grandest hotel in Manhattan, though it was hard to take in the scope of it from his spot at its base. The first seventeen floors stretched dizzyingly skyward, blocking out the tower, but looking no less grand. He grinned and started walking westward, his gait nonchalant even as his path turned to the dark alley at the hotel's backside.

It was a part of what made New York City so great: no one paid you any mind as long as you kept to yourself. He had the key to the hotel's inner workings already in his hand. Though he would look strange striding through the Ansonia's front door, no one would question his comings and goings through the back. Hotels of the Ansonia's size and clientele were like a ship of the Navy-it took a lot of people, usually underpaid and underappreciated, to keep it afloat.

The lunch hour meant that the help corridors were nearly devoid of employees, but he took care to still look busy. A fast walk told anyone who saw that he was a man on a mission, and was not to be stopped.

And he wasn't.

It did not take Flynn long to find the service elevator in the dim halls, since had his instructions-including the navigation of the Ansonia-well memorized. It had been a heist they'd been planning for months. _They _being the family Flynn worked for, though illegally indentured may have been a more accurate word to describe his complicated relationship with the Tatiascore.

His role in it had been a surprising and last minute detail, but with it had come the promise of freedom.

The service elevator halted at the seventeenth floor. Flynn stepped out, recalling that the tower itself had one lift for the help as well as the residents. Now his journey became significantly more perilous-he had to hope that he did not run into any of the Ansonia's other denizens on his way to the top. A narrow way divided the service halls from the main corridors, and as he reached them, he could not help but stop and admire how the other half lived.

Well-lit and rich in décor, the Ansonia was everything that its reputation had made it out to be. Paintings hung from the walls, equally spaced between trees that had been perfectly groomed to lend a fresh and floral fragrance to the building. Evidence of the residents and all of their wealth and eccentricities leaked out from under doorways: the sound of every sort of instrument under the sun, and songs in every language greeted him, but they were not what he was after.

The tower's elevator was not far from the service hall door, set in the opposite wall. He heard its arrival and ducked inside the way he had come, pressing his back into the wall. The woman who passed did not notice, and he did not loiter, slipping out of his hiding spot to catch his ride just before the doors slid shut.

Flynn ascended the last eight floors without incident. The tower of the Ansonia housed the most luxurious of the apartments, including the one that had once housed Stokes himself at the very top. Now, of course, it was occupied by a famed singer that he had heard only in passing, but he was not breaking into her home for an autograph. He was after something much more precious.

The lift doors parted to reveal an unexceptional entryway and yet another door, this one decorated by a bronze knocker molded in the shape of a lion's snarling face. As his hand tested the doorknob, he was surprised to find it unlocked. Immediately, his senses were alert and on edge.

The Stabbingtons had said they would take care of Morse, implying that they did not expect her to be in her apartment. Why leave the door unlocked? If the help were expected to come by and clean, or whatever it was that maids and butlers did for the people they worked for, surely they would have keys of their own. The Stabbingtons would not have set him up to be caught; they had as much to lose from this job as he did, and the Tatiascore did not easily forgive.

Suddenly wary, Flynn ran his fingers over the lion head. It still felt and looked new, reflecting a warped and yellowed version of his face. Breathing in, he gave it a few solid knocks.

Minutes passed, and there was no answering noise from within. Perhaps Morse had left the door unlocked out of forgetfulness. Flynn tightened his grip on the handle and pushed it open, catching his breath with the expectation of what was beyond.

Strangely, he was disappointed.

He didn't have much by the way of expectations, but the sight that greeted him was rather ordinary. A short hall moved down to his right and out of sight, and across from the front door was an airy parlor. The breeze moved in through a window in the opposite wall that seemed to open up into emptiness. He stepped toward it, moving into the parlor, which did not seem to be much of an improvement on his already lessening interest. He didn't pay any attention to the paintings on the walls or the couches that did not appear comfortable in any sense of the word; his eyes caught briefly on the glint of silver candle holders in the dining room to his right, but he passed by that entry way, goaded on by promise of the window.

When he reached it, he inhaled and forgot to let it go.

The Upper West Side of Manhattan spread out in every direction, as far as he could see, impressive even with the low-lying clouds that seemed close enough to touch. Buildings that seemed to crowd out the sidewalks with their dirty, ruddy bricks and smoking chimneys were now far away, almost like another country entirely. In the distance, he thought he could catch green flashes of Central Park, and he knew that on Broadway, boutiques would be boasting the latest, greatest, and most expensive of everything he could ever dream of. Dull couches or not, up here, he felt untouchable.

"I could _really _get used to this," he repeated, stepping back from the window, and right into the path of a hefty, Stewart-Warner three hundred, not even seeing the radio as it collided with his head.

* * *

Author's Note

You know those ideas, the kind that sort of sneak up out of the corner of your eye and punch you in the face and then threaten to break your legs until you follow through? This was one of those ideas. I had wondered before just what sort of take an AU Tangled fic would go on, and I was struck by a sudden (and violent) inspiration, and now I'm having a hand at it myself.

Researching for this project was just as fun as writing it is going to be, let me tell you. I've cruised through youtube and bookstores and Google, devouring everything I could find. I love the spirit of the era-the euphoria that comes with the end of the war, as well as the social and political strife with the women's suffrage movement and the racism and class struggles that pervaded major cities like New York. I thought that it would make a great backdrop for all of the themes of Tangled's story, and at the same time, I could make it my own. You'll notice that I've kept some elements from Disney and set aside others, but all in all it is for the benefit of the tale I am going to tell. Unfortunately, Pascal did not fit in, though I tried to find him a place. So you won't see him with Rapunzel-not yet.

I've done my homework while writing this, which you will hopefully notice and appreciate. Music is a big part of the culture of the 1920s, and most music that I mention you can find online, because that is where I discovered it. Gothel's last name I lifted from an actual singer of the time, Lee Morse, who has a lower voice that I thought was similar to Donna Murphy's. You should check her out.

The Ansonia is an actual hotel-turned-apartment building in Manhattan that is still standing today. It has a rich and rather colorful history to match its fancy French exterior. I found in my research that the original plans did indeed have a central tower on the building, which made it perfect for this story, but Stokes stopped at seventeen stories because he "liked the view." The photographs of the structure are pretty imposing nonetheless, though it is dwarfed by the modern skyscrapers that surround it today.

Other than that, New York City has not changed much. Still noisy, smelly, and busy. I would know.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Rapunzel shrieked.

No one heard her, of course. The soundproof apartment guaranteed that her neighbors probably did not even know she existed, and the man crumpled at her feet was in no condition to hear anything at all.

She set the hefty radio down gently, not daring to tear her eyes away from the unconscious home invader. She had no idea who he was or what he could possibly want, but couldn't keep the terrifying headlines from crossing her mind. Her mother was right! The world was a dark and dangerous place, but there was no where for her to hide if it was going to force its way right into her home!

Forcing herself to calm, Rapunzel sidled around the man's body. She dared to look closer, her head cocked to the side curiously. He was dressed rather unimpressively, and his brown hair was longer than was fashionable, and fell over his eyes. Crouching, she pushed it aside with tentative fingers.

He certainly didn't _look _like a malicious marauder. In fact, Rapunzel thought he looked rather nice. His expression was so peaceful, he could have been sleeping-albeit uncomfortably positioned on her floor. She hadn't hit him hard enough to make him bleed, but he would have a helluva headache when he woke up.

Still, the sight of his face made her stomach flutter. Rapunzel told herself it was only leftover abject terror, and ignored it.

She straightened and began to pace the length of the sitting room, keeping one eye on him and the other on the front door, half expecting either her mother or even more thugs to arrive. She wasn't sure that in the case of the latter that she had enough strength to bash all of their heads in. But when minutes passed without incident, she was sure that she was on her own.

Her mother's lunch appointments often stretched into the evening hours, and she usually had dinner plans after that. On any normal day, that suited Rapunzel just fine, since she could always ring for something to eat from the kitchens that serviced the whole building. Of course, she'd never even _seen _the people who delivered hot meals and left them on a trolley outside of the apartment door, but Gothel must have given them a reasonable explanation, because no one seemed to wonder.

Until now. Could this fellow be one of the help, who had finally given in and come to investigate the girl Gothel kept in her apartment? Rapunzel doubted it. He didn't dress in the sharp uniform Gothel told her all of he Ansonia's employees wore. So who he could be was still a mystery-Rapunzel caught herself staring at him, and shook her head.

"I'm not afraid of you," she said aloud, and continued her pacing.

She considered what she had to do. Calling the police was probably her first bet, but Gothel had no outside phone line of her own, only the pneumatic tubes that Rapunzel used to message the kitchen (contacting anyone else through the system had been forbidden.) Who she would inform to her dilemma, she wasn't sure, and had a feeling that it would call up more questions than she could answer.

No, her mother would not want that. Rapunzel supposed that she could somehow _keep _the man imprisoned here, and wait for her mother's return. Gothel would know what to do with him, and might even be pleased with Rapunzel for handling it so well.

Rapunzel halted at the credenza, letting her hand fall from her chin, where it had been tapping in earnest thought, to the envelope. The letter announcing the Gala's rescheduling peeked out of the top. She retrieved it and scanned its words again without really reading them.

Something inside her reared its head; she had an inkling that it was the _rebellious spirit _that her mother often warned against, that was taking hold of many young women these days, driving them to desperate means, disobeying their well-meaning parents and being general troublemakers.

She looked at the letter, at the Gala's new date, at the man on the floor, and back to the letter. The cycle repeated as something formulated in her mind. A plan of some sort, one that was more dangerous and delighting than the small pranks she pulled on her mother from time to time. Surely, if the man had been awake to see the sly smile spreading across Rapunzel's lips, he would not have liked it one bit.

* * *

It took Flynn a moment to remember that he'd stopped drinking; that much, however, did not explain why his head hurt so much.

He was very comfortable, beside that fact. Peeling back an eyelid, he surveyed his surroundings and tried to assemble what had happened.

The room was dim, but large. Whatever color the walls were, it didn't matter, because every available surface (except a foot or so from the ceiling) was covered in pictures. Some looked hand drawn, others painted; their subjects a varying array of portraits and landscapes. Some had frames, but the rest seemed to have been scribbled out and plastered up with the disorganized logic of a madman.

Moving his gaze away from the walls, Flynn took in the rest of the room. To his right, a wide, canopied bed was dressed a with quilt that recalled a quiet home in the country. On the other side of that was a window, with the dusky light of late afternoon floating in between its curtains. Beside the window, a vanity, its drawers topped by a variety of hair brushes, hand mirrors, and bottles of paint. Set in the wall opposite Flynn were two doors; what lay behind either was unclear.

His environment assessed, Flynn moved on to take personal inventory. Looking down, he discovered just what it was that kept him from moving from his spot: someone had strung him up with his own suspenders. Rather snugly, it seemed, since they bit into his chest and forearms before disappearing around the back of the rather garish chair he was imprisoned in. Offensively floral bed sheets were also in the equation, keeping his legs and arms immobilized in an arrangement that, under any other circumstances, would have been impressive.

He had made it to Morse's apartment without incident, he recalled that much. There had been the parlor, the dining room, and what seemed like all of New York City laid out, like some vast, waiting empire. He'd felt like a king, but right now, he felt very much a fool. The Stabbingtons had made this job seem a simple one, and he'd gone and blown it, along with any chance of redemption he'd had with the Tatiascore.

One of the doors opened, and he jumped, expecting a policeman or some thug that would give him the beating of a lifetime. But he found himself transfixed, not by fear or suspenders, but by the sight of the girl that entered.

She held the door open with one arm, and it opened so that the afternoon light did not reach her, instead casting most of her face in shadow. When she stepped forward, though, it caught and on the long blond hair that fell around her face in shining strands. Her eyes were large, almost too large, set evenly on either side of a pert nose. Her petulant lips were somewhat parted as they stared at each other.

The girl broke the silence first. "Who are you?"

"Uh?" Flynn responded dumbly.

"Who _are _you?" She repeated, stepping forward again. Flynn could see that she brandished a silver candelabra, holding it like a baseball bat. It didn't look like it would do much damage, but he had to give her credit for good form. She was dressed a little strangely-her dress was at least a decade out of style. And now that she was closer, he could see the real extent of her hair; it ran down to the floor, and even a few feet behind.

That was just strange enough to break whatever spell had kept Flynn from his usual eloquent self. "Who am I? Who are _you?_" He was supposed to have broken into Morse's apartment, at the very top of the Ansonia. Could he have broken into the wrong one?

"I'll ask the questions here," the girl said abruptly, leveling the candelabra at his nose. Flynn leaned away from it and scowled. She continued, "How did you get into my house?"

"The front door."

It was her turn to frown. "What do you want? Why are you here?"

Flynn cleared his throat, thinking quickly. If he was any hand at putting two and two together, this girl was probably a lunatic and he had to make tracks as soon as possible and hope the Tatiascore would make his death quick and relatively painless.

"Look, blondie," he gestured emphatically, despite being tightly bound. "I'm in a bit of a situation, but it looks like I just managed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. So, if you'd be so kind, I'll find Morse's apartment and be out of your hair-"

"Mother? What do you want from Mother?" The girl demanded, tightening her grip on the candelabra.

It took a moment to sink in.

"Wait, what?" Flynn paused. "_Mother?" _She had to be joking.

"If you want an autograph, you're going to have to pay for one, just like everyone else," the girl told him sternly. "But if you want a lock of her hair or something like that, I'm going to have to call the police."

"Just _wait,_" Flynn shook his head, trying to clear the last dregs of pain so he could think it through. "You're telling me that you're _Gothel Morse's daughter. _She doesn't _have _a daughter." He wasn't up on his celebrity gossip, but he was pretty sure the Stabbingtons would have given him a bit of warning.

The girl looked suddenly uncomfortable. "Yes, she does. I am. Her daughter, I mean. It's a secret."

"Why would she have a _secret _daughter?" Flynn's suspicions were confirmed. This girl was most definitely crazy.

"It's for my own good," she said, in the manner of somebody who's told themselves a certain thing so many times that they've stopped believing it. "Her turbulent career and demanding lifestyle isn't healthy for a growing girl. It's better that I'm here and away from it all."

There was a moment of dubious silence. Flynn watched the candelabra lower, and the girl's gaze move elsewhere in thought.

"Right," He pushed against his bonds, but the girl had done her job well. He wiggled too and fro, but his feet were just as snug. "I'd love to hear all about your domestic issues, blondie-"

"-_Rapunzel_-"

"Gesundheit. But it isn't going to help me find the diamond that I'm looking for-"

"Wait," it was Rapunzel who interrupted him now. "Do you mean the _Crown _Diamond?"

"Yes," Flynn could not keep the aggravation from his voice. "It was supposed to be in Morse's apartment, but here _you _are instead. So, how about you don't call the police and I'll be on my way and we can forget this ever happened-"

"What do you need it for?" She sounded almost genuinely curious.

He couldn't tell her the truth, of course. He couldn't do anything that might get the Family in trouble. "I need it for a job," he answered. "She was supposed to get it today, so she could wear it to that party or whatever tonight, and unless you're going to hand it over to me-"

"She doesn't have it," Rapunzel said plainly. "The Gala was rescheduled. It isn't tonight."

"_What?_"

But Flynn wasn't listening. Instead, he let his head fall back against the chair, flinching as he struck the goose egg forming on the back of his skull, and groaned with a mixture of pain and frustration. Of all the things to go wrong, he'd broken in to the right place, but at the wrong time. You'd think they'd be kind enough to announce this sort of thing in the paper for idiots like him to work with.

His thoughts turned to the Stabbingtons. Surely, if they'd known, they would have told him, and they would have moved the job to another day.

Or they had set him up.

He straightened up at the thought. They had too much to lose with a job like this, but some small part of him wouldn't put it past the hulking twins. Not if the Boss had put them up to it.

"See?"

Rapunzel had gone while he'd been sorting his thoughts out, but she'd returned, and was waving a piece of paper in his face. Squinting, he read the dark type. It was a letter to Morse, and it confirmed that the Gala had indeed been moved to another night. And that meant she would not be getting the Diamond (and he, in turn, would not be able to steal it) for another two weeks.

He swallowed a curse. "Well, that's just great. Thanks for your help, blondie." He went back to his squirming.

"You're not going anywhere!" Rapunzel announced with sudden gusto. She gripped his wrists with her own smaller hands, and the look in her eyes was nothing short of wild determination. "You've broken into my house, and I've had the grace enough to not call the police on you. I think you and I can help each other. What is your name?"

"I don't have to tell you that."

She inhaled, "I'll scream." No one would hear her, of course, not with the apartments built to contain the noises of every manner of musical instrument and stage performer. But he didn't know that.

"No, no, don't do that," he told her, clearly panicking. "It's Rider, okay? Flynn Rider."

Rapunzel's mind was going wild. She could hardly believe what she was doing, or the person she'd become. Normally soft spoken and obedient, her mother would hardly recognize the girl who had hogtied a burglar to a chair and now commanded his wide-eyed attention.

"I have, or will have, something that you want, Flynn Rider. This diamond. And you, you have something that I need."

One of the man's rather expressive eyebrows quirked. "Oh? And what is that?"

Rapunzel's whole arm, candelabra included, pointed to the window. "New York City."

She let that sink in as the man glanced out, and then back to her. He didn't say anything, so she continued, "See, I've never left this apartment. You seem like a smart man. Like you could find your way through Manhattan easily. Am I correct in my assumption?"

He found the silver candlestick back in his face again. "Well, yes," he said uncomfortably. "I know my way around-"

"Perfect. Then you will act as my guide and take me all there is to see in New York City."

Flynn could hardly believe what the girl was saying. "I will _what? _Look, blondie, I'm sorry that you have been permanently grounded, but you can't just-"

He was about to say, _tie up a stranger and make him take you out for a night on the town,_ but he stopped himself.

The situation Flynn Rider found himself in was very, very unique. He'd gotten himself out of sticky dilemmas before, but usually with a bit of wheedling, lying, and no small amount of bribery. Somehow, this was going a little differently.

Here was a perfectly able young lady with a severe case of either agoraphobia or protective parent syndrome, trying to blackmail him into being her tour guide. She didn't seem to realize that you couldn't just strike a deal with a stranger, and trust them with your personal safety. Not in this town. And not if she really was who she claimed to be-the daughter of an internationally famed performer, who had kept her locked away at the top floor of Manhattan's most luxurious hotel for some reason or another. He'd come here to do a simple burglary, nothing more, and he was pretty sure the consequences for kidnapping-victim willing or not-would be much worse.

That was it.

The Tatiascore clearly had no idea this girl existed. And Morse was very protective of her daughter, who seemed to want nothing more than to go outside. Flynn could hardly fathom the dark turn his thoughts had taken.

This girl-Rapunzel-would fix everything. He could leave, right now, with her. Morse would spare no expense, which she had in spades no doubt, to find her.

And Flynn would be there to collect the reward.

She was watching him expectantly, hopefully unable to read his thoughts as he sucked in his breath, making a decision that would change his life forever.

"Okay."

Rapunzel blinked. She hadn't expected it to be that easy. "You'll do it?"

"You've obviously got me between a rock and a hard place," Flynn said obligingly. "I can't argue with the logic. You caught me doing something wrong, and unless I want to be turned into the police-which I don't-I'm going to have to do what you say."

Rapunzel grinned. "That's right."

Flynn coughed. "Now, if you'll just let me go, we can get started on this little walk around Manhattan."

"Oh, right," Rapunzel started. Before her fingers reached the suspenders that held him upright, however, she stepped back. "Just wait, actually. I have to get a few things."

She tossed the candelabra on the bed and didn't listen as he called after, "You could still untie me! I'm not _going _anywhere!"

He could hardly walk out without his ransom.

Rapunzel didn't think anything close to that as she pattered down the hall and to her mother's room. Similar to hers in décor and layout, she moved to the closet, her movements quiet, as if she still feared being caught. She crouched as she faced the safe placed at the closet's floor. She'd figured out the combination long ago, though she'd never had any use for the knowledge before. Now, a few flicks of her wrists, and it eased open. Within it lay papers that she had no interest in, as well as a few precious gems, and of course, money.

She reached out for the wads of flimsy green paper, retrieving one that was held together by a clip decorated by a sparkling green lizard-shaped brooch. It tingled her fingers, though the sensation was imaginary. It was a thrill, tricking this man into helping her, and stealing from her mother. She was at once proud of her disobedience, and terrified of the consequences to come.

"I'll cross that bridge when I get to it," she mumbled, shutting the safe and returning to her room.

Untying Flynn was no simple task, but he promised not to run out the front door as she found herself a coat. It _was _winter outside, he'd reminded her. He'd also had to point out the need for shoes-but the only pair she had were a set of simple slippers for the days when the floor was exceptionally cold.

Still, she found herself before the front door, Flynn Rider beside her, his hand on the knob. She forced herself to breath evenly, though her heart threatened to burst from her chest.

"You alright, blondie?" Flynn glanced sidelong at her. She wouldn't do him much good if she was going to go completely and utterly off of her rocker. He noticed for the first time that her eyes were green.

Rapunzel said nothing, but looked up at him and nodded. There was something assuring about the set of his jaw, the lines of his face. He was handsome, she'd seen that earlier, but something in the way he held himself, like a man who'd been fighting against the world his entire life, made her trust him.

Shrugging, he tightened his fingers and pulled open the door.

* * *

Author's Note

One great thing about doing this fic as an Alternate Universe story is that I get to start at the beginning, as opposed to Crown, which was a continuation of what was already established.

I'm a visual person to a fault, and I enjoy writing descriptively, so I can get what I see in my head across to the readers. I hope that it's working-though I do have a little help, since the movie pretty much provides the character appearances for me. Thank you to everyone who responded so positively to my first chapter. Warm fuzzies all around.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

This babysitting job wasn't all that it was cracked up to be.

That, and other thoughts trekked across Flynn Rider's mind as he sat at a table beside the window of a pub-turned-cafe, facing a girl who hadn't spoken to him in an hour. It was a drastic change from earlier in the day, when he hadn't been able to keep her quiet.

Rapunzel's first steps beyond the apartment had been wary ones, but the fact hadn't really hit her until she'd stepped inside the elevator. The doors had slid shut, and they were making their way slowly downwards when it had halted on the twentieth floor to let another resident inside.

He hadn't been anything exceptional, Flynn and Rapunzel's new companion. A man of about middle age, he dressed well, and carried a case for some sort of instrument in one hand. Though there was plenty of room for all of them in the lift, Rapunzel had practically glued herself to Flynn's side. She half expected her mother to appear on the other side of those doors, to drag her back to the top for the rest of her days.

If Rapunzel was nervous, Flynn was positively apoplectic. Never in his life had things gone his way, and he could hardly believe that he would stride right out of the Ansonia's gleaming lobby, past the doormen and onto the street, his ticket to escape in tow.

That had been around one o'clock that afternoon. It was now three-thirty, his eyes ached, Rapunzel's slippers were beginning to fall apart under the duress of so much walking, and they'd managed to make it to West Sixty-sixth before the first hitch in the plans.

He'd been content to let Rapunzel lead, and had only had to snatch her out of the path of oncoming traffic once or twice. Flynn was still gloating as she paused to admire the window of a toy store when he spotted the familiar automobile a half a block away. He did not need to see through the tinted windshield to know it would be driven by one of the Stabbington boys.

Two hours had passed since they'd left the Ansonia, and Rapunzel had them wandering in circles. Flynn knew his way, of course, and realized that they probably hadn't gone far from the hotel despite the time. He'd failed to make the rendezvous, failed to even steal what they were after, and if the Stabbingtons found him strolling through the Upper West Side, especially with some girl, he wouldn't have to worry about the Boss killing him once they were through.

The possibility of a set-up still nagged at the back of his mind. That, compounded with every other suspicion, every anger that had gathered against the Tatiascore over the years, only solidified Flynn's desire to be through with them for good.

"This way, blondie," he'd said, grabbing Rapunzel's hand a little too rough for her liking. She protested loudly even as he tugged her through the crowded sidewalk. Foot traffic was especially thick in the face of the holiday, with children free of schoolwork and most businesses closed.

"Where are we going?" Rapunzel had demanded.

"We're, ah, we're going the other way." He turned the corner of the block and pulled her eastward.

"Why?"

"Less people this way," he lied.

"Looks the same to me."

"You don't know any better."

Flynn did not wait until they reached the other corner before crossing the street, artfully dodging vehicles and a pair of horse-mounted police officers. When they reached the opposite side, he released her. The gears were turning beneath his lopsided flat cap. When he did not meet the Stabbingtons, they would assume he'd been caught and arrested-though that wouldn't mean a lot, since much of the police force was already in the Tatiascore's pocket.

When he wouldn't turn up in any of the nearby jails, they'd know for sure that they'd run out on them. Diamond or no, nobody turned their back on the Tatiascore.

Flynn swallowed that remembered threat and turned to Rapunzel. "How about I lead for a while?" He would know where to go to stay unnoticed.

"Okay," she smiled at him winningly. Her naiveté was almost painful to see. "Where are we headed?"

He cast his eyes skyward. It was growing dark, the way winters did.

"Well, are you hungry?"

"Sure."

"Great." Flynn patted his pockets. In one was his wallet, little more than a flimsy flap of leather that didn't hold much. In the other was a pack of cigarettes and a box of matches. He pulled them out with a practiced motion, lighting a match against the bottom of his shoe and lighting the slender roll of tobacco between his lips. After an anxious drag, he noticed Rapunzel's nose wrinkled in distaste.

"What?" He shrugged, starting to walk.

"It smells," she told him plainly.

"It helps," was his simple rebuttal.

"It's bad for you."

"So are a lot of things, but this is the least of my worries."

"Why? What else is bad for you?" He could practically hear her eyes narrowed with suspicion. He'd answered a little more grumpily than he'd planned to.

"Women who ask too many questions."

That was what had started the silent spell that had continued all the way to Columbus Circle. Rapunzel had still stopped to study people, places and things, but had refused to utter a word. Her curiosity and occasional confusion was more than obvious, but she said nothing to Flynn. In fact, she all but ignored him, forcing the man to wait until she'd satisfied herself before moving on.

He didn't have much money to begin with, and many of the eating places they passed were beyond his price range. It came with the neighborhood. He made good on his offer, however, finding the joint in which they now sat just off the famed thoroughfare that marked Central Park's southwest corner.

Flynn cleared his throat for the third time since sitting down. Rapunzel gazed out the window at the darkening sky and the shape of the Park. He half expected her to have left him by now, but he did have the advantage of having home field, and he doubted she could find her way back to the Ansonia without his help.

If she had decided to, though, he knew he'd have no way of keeping her without making a scene. Then he risked having someone _really _call the police.

"Look, blondie…" He started.

"My name is _Rapunzel,_" she said fiercely. The two slim pieces of coffee cake that Flynn could afford had long been eaten, and now she busied herself braiding her hair. She'd carried most of its impressive length as they walk, having quickly learned just how dirty New York City really was.

"Kind of a weird name," Flynn pointed out.

She looked miffed. "It's German."

"Oh."

Another uncomfortable silence settled in. Flynn all but gave up on trying a conversation. He only knew that he needed her to be happy, so that she would stick around until he could get his money. It was getting the money that would prove the most difficult part.

Just how exactly did you ransom someone in the first place?

He supposed he could write Morse a letter. Or, if he wanted to try the publicity angle, he could send it to the newspaper or the police. Would he handwrite it, or type it? He didn't have a typewriter, or know anyone who did. He supposed he could make it up of letters cut from magazines or the paper, but that seemed a little time consuming, and time was not something he had much of.

"Where are we going now?" Rapunzel asked as the waiter came and went, taking most of what cash Flynn had left on him.

"Uh," he replied smartly, glancing outside. It was getting on in the day, and most places of interest would be closed.

He hadn't thought this through.

"Well, most places are going to be closing up by now. We made sort of a late start today."

Her anger at him seemed to vanish, replaced by the most crestfallen expression he'd ever seen.

"Don't worry," he said quickly, without meaning to. "I'll take you to see them, still."

Rapunzel brightened instantly, standing up as he did. "Tomorrow?"

Tomorrow was Friday. "Not tomorrow," he said slowly, striding out the door. "I've actually got to work tomorrow."

"Oh," she said softly, her disappointment evident. She recovered with yet another question. "What do you do?" He seemed reluctant to tell her. Rapunzel recalled that he'd needed to steal the diamond that was supposed to be in her mother's possession 'for a job.' "…Are you a thief?" She would have to rethink her choice in guides if that was the case.

"No," he said hurriedly. "That was a one time gig." And mostly the truth. "I'm a dockworker. I unload boats."

"Sounds interesting," Rapunzel followed behind him eagerly, though she hadn't yet gotten used to the furious pace of the city. Why was everyone always in such a _hurry? _

"It really isn't," Flynn replied dryly. She had a feeling he thought she wasn't being sincere, so she caught up with him with a few cautious leaps over the trash piled at the side of the street.

"No, it _is. _You get to see ships that come in from all over the world, with all sorts of things inside of them. You handle all sorts of exotic goods every day."

They paused on the corner of the block, waiting to cross. He glanced down at her, expression wry. "Just Fridays and Sundays," he corrected, but Rapunzel was pleased. She'd finally gotten him to smile-but he ruined it by lighting another cigarette.

When they reached the other side, Flynn stopped, moving out of the way of other people who passed by. He looked up and down the street, as if deciding which way to go. Twilight had fallen fast behind the thick November clouds, and already the streetlamps were being lit.

"Staying out all night isn't an option," Flynn muttered, mostly to himself. He _really _needed to get it together. Looking at Rapunzel, he knew that going back to her place was out of the question. She watched him expectantly, arms full of blonde hair, face unlined and unweathered by years out in a world that did not take kindly to the innocent.

"We could always go to your house," she suggested. "Where do you live?"

Flynn almost swallowed his smoke, realizing that it would be their only feasible plan. His neighborhood, however, would be a far cry from what she was used to. He told her just as much.

"I'm sure it isn't all that different," Rapunzel assured him. She'd already seen so much-an overheard enough-that she had never experienced before. She also felt exhausted, taking in the West Side's people, trekking through its streets, but was too polite to mention it. After all, Flynn must be used to the exercise.

He must have read it somewhere in her drooping eyelids. "All right," he conceded, and turned to lead her south along the block. He stopped before what appeared to be a rough-cut set of stairs that lead downward, perhaps to the center of the earth itself. Numbers posted on the railing that kept passerby from falling in were like gibberish to Rapunzel, who realized just what this strange portal was.

Her mother had much to say about the subways of New York, and none of it good. "Infested with rats and the homeless," was one of her most favored epithets. Dark cars full of strangers that would cut your purse strings-or worse. Flynn was already a few steps down before he realized she wasn't following him.

He turned and saw her wary, frightened expression, her hands stroking her hair in what he knew was a nervous habit.

"Come on," he said gently. "It isn't so bad."

Rapunzel looked at his hand, extended to her with a silent assurance. It was strong and warm, dwarfing her own pale fingers as she accepted it with a mumbled, "Okay." She said nothing more, but took the steps cautiously as she followed him down into darkness.

* * *

Rapunzel's trepidation of the underground was short lived. Flynn was pretty sure that her enthusiasm would be the end of him.

"Watch it!" He'd said more than once, tugging her away from the edge of the platforms. She insisted on listening for the train, or seeing what sort of signs had been posted up, and reading every half-scrawled bit of inappropriate graffiti had been crammed in the spaces between hanging adverts.

"Flynn, who is this Betty and what's so great about her gams?" Rapunzel asked, pointing to a particularly graphic bit of vandalism. Flynn was spared the humiliating explanation by the arrival of the Express line and he quickly shepherded Rapunzel on board.

If there was one thing she hadn't been expecting, it was just how crowded the train was. She imagined it must have been what sardines felt like, trapped in their tin cans as more and more people (more than she'd had thought were on the platform) poured inside.

"Watch your pockets," Flynn advised her quietly. Rapunzel stiffened, suddenly wary. They eventually wound up pressed against the doors of the train's opposite side; it had all happened rather quickly, and she wasn't ready when it lurched into motion. Flynn caught her as she fell forward, chuckling at her mumbled apology.

She clung to the door and the short arm of the seats. Outside, the black walls of the tunnel flew by, and while a layer of glass and metal protected them, she felt that if she looked too close, her nose and fingers would be sheared right off.

People pressed in from all sides, swaying with the movement of the car. It was much warmer than the night above, and the smell of bodies was invasive. The city was dirty-she did not want to see the bottom of her slippers, or even herself, feeling the day's journey like a layer of grime on her skin. Her head drooped and her eyelids felt heavy, but she was wide awake at the flash of something in the corner of her sight. What she feared to be a rat was only the dragging end of someone's scarf, but now her mind flourished with visions of the beady-eyed rodents, with crooked yellow teeth and diseases.

Even as the imaginary rats threatened to swamp her ankles, she recalled Flynn's warning about her pockets, and her own mother's admonitions about the world beyond her tower. Ruffians, gangsters, and war all streaked past the subway's dirty windows.

"Are you okay, blondie?"

The train paused for only an instant to let more people on board. They seemed to all be wearing predatory leers, their faces caricatured by the shadows of their hats and high-collared jackets. They hadn't seemed real from when she'd been up so high, but her mother's voice rang in her ears.

"It isn't safe out there, flower."

Rapunzel felt the floor rolling, and it was not because of the tracks. Blood roared in her ears, accompanying the noise of the tunnel collapsing. She remembered articles in the paper of car accidents, trains turning over, muggings, ships sinking, cities being burned to the ground-

"_Blondie!_"

They were suddenly outside, and Rapunzel was sucking in great gulps of night air. It burned her lungs with how cold it was, but she could not help but inhale greedily. She did not know how Flynn had managed to guide her out of the train at the right stop and over the steps that brought them back onto the street, but she was not going back down there again.

"So we won't be taking the train next time," Flynn said cautiously, watching her regain her composure. He'd been genuinely concerned for a minute there. It wouldn't be any good if his unwitting hostage had collapsed on the subway and caused a racket.

"I'm all right now," Rapunzel said, taking a look around at their destination. The dark streets were not much of an improvement from the tunnels. Dogs barked and babies wailed in concert with their arguing parents. In the distance, a car backfired noisily, making her jump.

The buildings here were far removed from the straight-backed heights of the West Side. The neighborhood seemed cobbled together out of bits and pieces of houses that did not quite belong, slumping on each other, held up only by laundry lines and dingy street lights. Men loitered in dark doorways, frightening Rapunzel for an instant before she saw that they were not paying her or Flynn any mind.

Still, she edged closer to her guide as he gestured to the narrow lane. "Welcome to Five Points," he said, naming a cluster of streets she had seen in the papers as New York's most famed slum. She gasped, expecting an assailant to leap from an alley, knife bared.

It was becoming increasingly clearer to Flynn that his plan was deteriorating. He'd made it this far, though.

"Come on, it's freezing," he started walking, and Rapunzel made sure not to fall an instant behind. Mulberry street was not far from the subway's entrance, and they were poised in front of one of many of Five Point's dilapidated tenements when he said, "Home sweet home."

He could tell Rapunzel was holding her breath when they stepped into the building, and he didn't blame her. Like most of Five Points, it had the distinct smell of social decay. A small, vindictive part of him was satisfied to show her just how the other less fortunate half lived. The stairs leading up to the second floor groaned under his predictable passage.

The lighting of the hall was yellowed and sickly, but his apartment was a yawning hole, once he found his key and opened the door. Rapunzel lingered just beyond the threshold, watching Flynn, who was illuminated only by the light that passed through the window in the opposite wall until he struck a match. There was a muffled curse as he nearly dropped the oil lamp that was his only source of light in the tiny room, and Rapunzel stepped inside as it flared to life.

His entire living space was smaller than her room. It was only just long enough to fit the narrow frame of his bed. Beside it, a small table that housed the lamp rested on crooked legs. Set in the wall to the left of the door and separated by a sorely abused dresser were two doors; Flynn opened one to reveal a shallow closet, hanging his jacket on one of the few hangers inside. A beaten-up pair of work boots waited at the door, and the sleeves of discarded clothes stuck out from under his mattress. Aged news clippings and photographs that had been sun-bleached nearly beyond recognition were pinned to the walls, and the dresser's top was cluttered with bottle caps, loose change, and a radio that had seen better days.

He watched her study his abode-though it could hardly be called that-convinced that it would be the last straw. After her spell on the train, he would not be surprised if she turned and ran all the way back to Broadway.

Instead, she offered an unexpected, "Cozy."

"You could say that," he started, but halted as he heard a familiar trudge on the stairs. He swore and seized Rapunzel by the shoulders, giving her an unceremonious shove toward the closet.

She cried out. "What? What is it?"

"My landlady. Just be quiet and don't move."

The girl only managed an indignant, "I don't under-" before he shut the door. Her blonde hair still trickled out into the room, but he gave the door a swift kick, and it disappeared. Even if her ability to interpret sarcasm was alarmingly stunted, at least she wasn't a complete idiot.

Flynn opened the door an instant after Miss Ward's first commanding rap.

"Missus Ward," he smiled his most charmingly to the portly, silver-haired woman that awaited him. She was four and a half feet of terrific Irish-Catholic discipline, dressed even more conservatively than the girl in his closet, and her expression proved once again that she would have none of his foolery.

"You're late on your rent, Mister Rider," she said flatly, her accent only making her tone all the sterner.

"Come on, lighten up, it's a holiday."

"The first wasn't a holiday."

Flynn winced and stepped back from the door, though he didn't let it open much farther. She'd skin him if she could see the state of it. As he moved to the dresser and the small wooden box on top of it, he noted that his closet was deceivingly silent. You couldn't even tell there was another human being inside, and briefly, he entertained the idea of just leaving Rapunzel in there. His smirk died on his lips, however, when he saw the bare state of his lockbox.

He plucked out the last pair of bills inside of it. "How about a partial payment tonight?" He asked, returning to Mrs. Ward, who was unimpressed. "I'll have the rest to you tomorrow."

"Promises don't pay the bills, Mister Rider," she replied, but pocketed the cash anyway. "I'll be seeing you tomorrow evening."

"Buy yourself something nice, Missus Ward," he told her retreating backside. She harrumphed, moving down the stairs as he closed the door.

Rapunzel practically fell out of his closet when he released her. She was pale enough that he could see each of her freckles, and he felt suddenly guilty.

"What was that about?" She demanded, running her hands over her hair as she moved to stand in the center of the room.

"The landlady," he repeated. "She's very old fashioned."

"Old fashioned how?"

"Old fashioned in that she would probably throw me out if she found an unmarried girl in my room."

"Huh?" Rapunzel's confusion was antagonizing enough so that Flynn answered the second knock without thinking, thrusting his face out into the hall with exasperation.

"_What?_"

"Hello to you, too."

The man with his fist still raised was in excess of six feet tall and unfortunately ugly. Well dressed in a suit tailored to fit his bulk, the effect was marred by a nose far too large for his pock-scarred face. His complexion was laughably ruined, and if his nose didn't poke people's eyes out, his goiter very well threatened to.

Flynn's relief was palpable. The only thing more frightening than the idea of being homeless was the Stabbingtons finding his place of residence. He'd managed to keep it from the Tatiascore for this long, but that was before he'd given them a reason to send him on a long dirt nap. The man that had found him, however, was no one to be afraid of.

"Hey, Norb."

Norbert Tambor took off his hat, shaking a few droplets of rain from the brim. His intimidating looks were only outdone by his impeccable manners. "Flynn, it's been a while, we've been missing you down at the Duckling."

Flynn suppressed a groan. As much as he meant well, Norbert and the rest of the Tagonski might be the end of him before the Tatiascore. He was spared explaining himself by a sudden burst of piano and white noise from inside the room.

"Will you stop that?" Flynn craned his neck around as Rapunzel snatched her hand back from the radio. Tambor narrowed his eyes and peered over Flynn's head.

"Who's the dame?"

"None of your-I mean, nobody," Flynn growled. Tambor's raised eyebrow was evidence enough of his disbelief.

"Never figured you for one of those fellas," he said.

Flynn rolled his eyes. He heard the springs of his mattress squeak, and figured Rapunzel was probably getting into more of his things. "I need a woman in my life like I need another hole in my head," he retorted. "She's just… New in town. I'm helping her out."

Tambor snorted, pulling a card from his breast pocket. "If you say so. We could actually use your help with something. You're working tomorrow, aren't you?"

Accepting the card, Flynn nodded. Written on in was a line of numbers, nothing more. "Yeah. Got a shipment?"

"Coming in from Maine. We'll need it for Sunday. Why don't you bring your friend?"

Not waiting for an answer, the gangster chuckled and headed down the stairs. He waved his hat as Flynn shouted after him, "I told you, she's nobody!"

He closed the world out for the last time that night, studying the card for a moment. He owed the Tagonski in a different way he owed the Tatiascore. The close-knit clan of Poles was more of a family to him than the Tatiascore would ever be, but if the former ever found out he worked for the latter, he'd be as good as dead to them.

_Had _worked for, he reminded himself as he turned to face the room again. Rapunzel probably would not appreciate being called a nobody, and as he opened his mouth to apologize, he looked up to discover that she had probably not heard him at all.

The girl was sprawled across his bed, out cold. She'd been aware enough to take her slippers off before climbing on to it, and in one of her hands was a piece of paper she'd taken from the wall.

It was an aging photograph, one of a very few he had, and he gently liberated it from her fingers. Her eyelids fluttered and her lips were softly parted; he could not help but notice the rise and fall of her breathing. Quickly, he straightened and returned the picture to its place.

It had been a very eventful day for Flynn Rider. He'd found his way out from under the Tatiascore, but that was only the first step. The second-and every step that came after that-would have to wait until tomorrow.


	4. Chapter Four

Author's Note: There was a bit of a mix-up in the previous chapters. My notes are messy, and I got my days of the week confused. November 11, 1926 is a Thursday, and I intended for Flynn to work Fridays and Sundays, but I accidentally had him say that the next day would be Saturday in the last chapter. I've gone back and fixed it, though, so you don't have to worry, our missing Friday is now back home, safe and sound.

* * *

Chapter Four

After sleeping on the floor all night, Flynn didn't feel much up to working, but he had little choice. Rapunzel seemed equally reluctant to let him out of her sight.

"We made a deal," she reminded him.

He did not take well to being scolded. "Yeah, I remember. Tomorrow, I promise. But I've got to work, or neither of us is going to be going _anywhere_."

She pouted. Flynn ignored it, instead tugging the wrinkles out of his shirt and tried to look as human as possible. "Look, you can't leave this room, Blondie. It's dangerous out there." And he couldn't risk his ransom walking right out of the door.

"Dangerous? How?"

"Just trust me, it is." Flynn paused, hand on the door. "Don't answer the door, don't go outside. Bathroom is there," he pointed to the door closest to the window, though the room beyond wasn't much more than a toilet and four walls. "Don't stick your head out the window, don't turn on the radio. Just… don't let anyone see you, okay?"

Rapunzel was not at all impressed, but said nothing. He hoped that her run in with the terrors of the poorer neighborhood, and his promise, would be enough to convince her to stay, because he couldn't very well take her to work with him.

He locked the door to his room with no small bit of trepidation. It was tempting to stay inside and out of the bitter November cold. Rapunzel had her coat, and the blanket, and the slight insulation that the tenement offered, but he would be out most of the day, bearing the brunt of the winter winds that came in from the Atlantic. They greeted him early as he stepped out onto the street, tearing at the buttons of his jacket and threatening to knock his cap from his head. He patted his pocket to make sure the card Mr. Tambor had given him was still there, then pushed into the wind with a scowl.

The underground provided some shelter from the wind, though he was now buffeted by human traffic. When he emerged amidst the dank warehouses, however, the weather had improved somewhat. Reaching the waterfront, he saw the dingy, noisy front line of New York's bustling port; great steamships loaded with crates and boxes and tanks being emptied and filled at a furious pace, cranes pulleys standing stark against the light, clouded sky. Men called orders to one another as trucks and cars went to and fro, carrying cargo that had not yet reached its final destination. Some would be taken deeper into the city, and others to train yards, and some to yet more boats. No small part of it, like what he was after, would disappear entirely from the streets.

Steam belched and whistles blew as Flynn clocked in, melding into the crowd of his fellow dock workers with ease. It wasn't particularly difficult work, but backbreaking. His mind was usually free to wander, but not today; he was alert for signs of the Stabbingtons, or any of the Tatiascore's other errand boys. The events of the day before were fresh in his mind, and so were the threats of his disobedience-as well as the worry that Rapunzel might wander off, or be discovered somehow. He would have to pick up a newspaper on his way home and see if her disappearance had already made it into the news; Morse posed for the front page on a regular basis, so the kidnapping of her daughter would be no small tidbit.

He walked up and down gangplanks, dodging the larger, stronger workmen, and avoiding his overseer's attention. His shirt and pants were soon streaked with dirt and whatever it was that ships gathered on their ocean journeys, his hands and knuckles worn by the cold and the rough surfaces of the crates they unloaded. What they carried were of no concern to him, though he could smell the distinct aroma of coffee beans wafting from some of the boxes he shifted. The ship most likely hailed from Africa, or South America, places he had never been and would probably never see. They were, as Rapunzel had said, exotic goods.

Flynn shook his head, trying to forget about the girl and the mobsters for a few minutes. The fretting was driving him for a cigarette, and when the whistle blew for his lunch break, the first thing he did was stomp down to the concrete walk and head to the fence that separated the wharf from the street. He was only one of many who took the migration; lighting up was forbidden by the boats, but the sidewalk was soon crowded with smokers.

Flynn reached into his breast pocket for a match, but his fingers found Tambor's card. With a groan, he forwent his cigarette for just a bit longer.

The numbers of the card were a code. The Tagonski were not wealthy or powerful, not the way the Tatiascore were, so they had to take extra care with who they dealt with. They would not be able to buy their way out of trouble. On the card, the numbers spelled out the name of the ship, and who Flynn would have to find to secure the less-than-legal cargo.

The _Marion _was a small vessel, though since Tambor had said it was coming in from Maine, that was reasonable. It wouldn't have needed to make a trans-Atlantic journey like the other ships. Her deck was alive with robust fellows, rolling barrels down to the port and out of sight. Flynn moved past them carefully, squinting at the card to try and decipher the contact's name. Tambor's writing was not the neatest, and sometimes the code could be tricky.

He approached a man standing on the Marion's bow with a board and papers in hand. "Excuse me," he said, interrupting the other's shouting match with another fellow a few boats over. "I'm looking for, ah," he paused. "I'm looking for Nancy?"

The overseer gave him a blank look.

"Shit. Randy," Flynn corrected after a second look at the card. "I'm looking for Randy."

A gesture directed him to one of the fellows moving around on the boat; tall, stocky, he was not exceptional, and evidently thought the same of Flynn.

"Can I help you?" Randy asked gruffly.

"Yes, actually," Flynn answered, holding out the card. Randy took it and turned it over; on the other side would be the small scribbled picture of a duck. He smirked.

"Right this way."

Flynn followed him to the boat's aft, where still more crates waited to be unloaded. Randy strode in among them, making sure the tarps and ropes that held them in place were secure. Under their feet, the boat still rocked gently. He paused beside a gathering of barrels, ducking down and reaching into a dark, tank space between them.

Flynn was sure that he'd withdraw an armful of rats or other sort of horror that was common on ships, but was handed a good-sized wooden box instead. It was unmarked, except for a similarly sketched duck, small on one corner.

"Thanks," Flynn told Randy, who only shrugged.

"Careful with that," was all he advised as Flynn made to leave the boat. He waited until the supervisor was occupied farther away before departing. No one stopped him as he left the dock, just further proof of the city's indifference.

He was returning to his own assigned ship when he nearly collided with a straight-backed figure of authority, busy scribbling parking tickets, but hidden around the corner of the fence.

"Captain Tannenbaum!"

Flynn cleared the smug expression from his face and tried to keep his burden as unnoticeable as possible. Dealing with the Captain, one of the waterside's few security policemen, was unpredictable. He was tough, and meant well-but didn't always seem to know just what was going on. He was one of the few that Flynn knew refused to bow to mob pressure, and had been a small, insignificant thorn in the side of the Tatiascore for years; so he had some respect for the man, even when he was just trying to keep himself out of trouble.

"Rider, watch your step," the Captain warned sternly. He had a chin and no-nonsense mustache that were proof he was born for the occupation. Obligingly, Flynn glanced down, straight to gaze of the Captain's loyal dog.

"Hi, Max," Flynn said warily.

Maximus was not like the other dogs of the force, Flynn knew, mostly because the Captain loved to expound on his canine partner's qualities, and Flynn had seen him in action. He suspected that Maximus was actually smarter than Captain Tannenbaum, and was always nervous about the way the dog watched him. He had a gleaming white coat and a keen gaze, his back coming up to just past the Captain's knees, and seemed to be constantly growling whenever he had Flynn in his sights.

This time was no exception, but Flynn saw that Max had his eyes on his crate. Trying to seem casual, Flynn realized that the damn dog would probably be able to smell the booze inside. Fortunately, for him, the Captain didn't seem to connect the two.

"Max, behave yourself," the Captain ordered. "How was your Armistice Day, Rider?"

"Good. Quiet," Flynn answered, though it had been neither of those things.

"Excellent. You've been behaving yourself, haven't you?" The Captain narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer. "Seen anything suspicious lately?"

_Yes, and so would you, if you were paying attention, _Flynn thought. "Not at all, Cap, but if I do, I'll let you know."

The Captain tugged on the brim of his own hat; hands full, Flynn was unable to return the gesture, but nodded as he was dismissed. He was careful to give Max a wide birth, since the last time he'd gotten too close, he'd had to buy a new pair of boots. Once he was a few yards away, he glanced back, and saw the dog watching him with an all-too human expression: the frustration of someone who knew there was wickedness afoot, but had no way to do anything about it.

Flynn stifled a chuckle and heard the whistle calling him back to work. So much for that cigarette. He returned to the boatside, shoving his box among a pile of tires and ropes where it would be out of the way and unnoticed, and went back to work.

* * *

Scipio Tatiascore was not sure who was going to die of a heart attack first: himself, or the middle-aged woman sitting in front of him.

The mob boss was quite comfortable in himself; narrowly-built with typical Italian features, he spoke with only the slightest of accents, and with the quick rush of any New York citizen. He was dressed in a clean-cut suit, the hat that covered his receding hairline resting at his elbow. The walls of his office were lined with heavily populated bookshelves, though he was not an avid reader: the books simply provided a great insulator against the sound of gunshots. Behind him, the blinds of the window was closed, though sunlight streaked in. On his desk, his fingers tapped, a rhythmic undercurrent to the staring contest he was holding with the woman in the seat across.

Gothel Morse wore more make up than her usual. He didn't have the heart to tell her it was obvious, but then, it was probably all for the stage. The silvery streaks at her temple were new, though; he was almost shocked to believe that the seemingly immortal star of the stage was beginning to show her years.

Her visit had been just as surprising, and entirely unwanted. His jaw set, Scipio wanted to know just why everything was starting to go terribly, terribly wrong.

"A little bit of warning would have been sufficient," Gothel said, her clipped tone finally breaking the silence. Her gaze left Scipio's to fall on the newspaper in her hand. The page had been folded and unfolded innumerable times, despite being just from that morning: on it was the announcement that the city's famed Winter Gala, the gathering of the brightest and finest in the arts and politics of the world, had been rescheduled until the first of December, due to the ostensibly dubious antics of some of the officials that were involved with it. Scipio spread his hands, the picture of cherubic innocence.

"All you needed us for was to get you the job. It ain't our bit if you can't keep it."

"You know perfectly well that it is, you have as much to lose by this as I do," Gothel's eyes narrowed. "Not to mention how much I've given you for your help."

Scipio tried to do his best to keep his usual façade of calm. "Yes, you've made quite an investment in the Tatiascore. But we don't have anything to do with these charity events or whatever else the City Council decides to put on. That isn't our racket."

"But the procuring and moving of goods _is. _If you can make sure a boatful of firearms makes it from Boston to Orleans under the authorities' noses, then helping me liberate a stone should be easy."

"There's a big difference between sinking a few boats and breaking into a bank vault, Miss Morse."

The cut their argument short as the door to Scipio's spacious office opened. A familiar pair of thugs stepped inside, their expressions grim. As soon as their gazes fell on Morse, they halted.

Gothel's eyes narrowed at the sight of the Stabbingtons. Scipio gave them a nod of recognition before saying, "We'll just have to reschedule ourselves. We can talk about it tomorrow, but if you please, my business associates and I-"

"I'm not done, Mr. Tatiascore," Gothel snapped, turning back to the mobster. It was obvious that she now spoke with some difficulty, like a child admitting they had done something wrong. "My daughter has gone missing."

Scipio paused and glanced over her head to the Stabbingtons before he could stop himself. "You have a daughter, Miss Morse? I had no idea." It seemed that of all things, progeny would be among the most difficult for the famed singer to hide. "A recent development?"

"No," Gothel said stiffly. "And I'd rather word not get out. I need her to be found, quickly, and discreetly."

Folding his fingers together, Scipio said dryly, "This would normally be a matter to bring to the police, Miss Morse. We are not detectives."

"The police cannot get involved," Gothel's shoulders sagged, and she looked worn. "She's a sheltered girl, Mr. Tatiascore. She'll be lost and scared, somewhere out in the city."

Scipio did not buy Gothel's performance for an instant. He sighed, "How long has she been missing?"

"Yesterday afternoon," Gothel answered. The Stabbingtons shifted uneasily at their post by the door. Scipio swallowed.

"I see. Go find Claude, and tell him to see me," he gestured for her to leave. "We'll find her, Miss Morse, and we'll discuss the Gala another time. No doubt you have a very tight schedule today."

"Every day," Gothel shrugged. She did not have the panicked air of a mother searching for a lost daughter as she gave Scipio a predatory smile. "Do not let me down, Mr. Tatiascore."

Scipio watched her leave, allowing silence to pervade the room for several moments after she had gone. The Stabbingtons approached his desk with equal, cautious steps, knowing that their boss's stillness was only a hint to the seething fury beneath.

"Where is Rider?"

Junior glanced at his brother, nudging him with his elbow. Ron scowled and spoke, "He didn't show up."

"Was he caught?"

"No," Junior added in. "He wasn't in any of the jails. Our guys would have known. And he hasn't run into any of them, either."

Scipio eased himself out of his chair, turning to face the window. He peeled two of the blinds apart to peer outside, though it was nothing but a trash-strewn alley behind an Italian restaurant. Somewhere, a dog barked, and was answered by shouting children.

"Interesting news, Miss Morse's little girl." Scipio could not keep the hatred from his voice. The dealings with Gothel had grown increasingly one-sided over the years, and he was growing very tired of her superiority complex. It was her wealth and her connections to people on high that kept him under her heel. But not for much longer-she had inadvertently shown him her entire hand of cards, and he intended to make it work for _him. _

"I suspect that her disappearance may not be entirely unrelated to our own man's betrayal." Scipio's voice had become soft and sibilant. He stepped away from the window and back to the desk, placing a hand on the paper that Gothel had left behind. The Stabbingtons watched him, knowing that a plot was formulating. Scipio did not become the boss of one of New York's most notorious mob families through sheer luck. He continued darkly, "No one turns on the Tatiascore. Find Rider, you'll find the girl. Bring them both to me."

Junior and Ron exchanged glances, then nodded. "You've got it, boss," Ron said, leading the way out. Junior glanced back as he shut the door, and saw nothing but Scipio's back as he stared outside once more, shoulders straight, raising a cigar to his lips.

* * *

Flynn's journey home was a difficult one. He juggled his crate, a cigarette, and a late edition of the paper, and tried very hard to keep wind-born embers of the second from alighting on the third. He scanned the flimsy, ruffled pages for any news of a missing girl, or a failed robbery, or even just suspicious persons-but found nothing. It was going to be very difficult to make a profit from his ham-handed kidnapping if no one seemed to care about the victim.

Mulberry street was crowded with other men coming home from work as wearying as his own, and no one bothered him about his questionable cargo. He ached all over, and could only wait until he had a moment to sit down, perhaps find something to eat, and just relax…

The sound of the voices that reached him as he stepped through the tenement building's door banished all thought of resting. Ms. Ward's voice was distinct from the landing as he leapt up the steps, two at a time. It was answered softly by another that could only be Rapunzel's.

Flynn swore to himself. He'd told Rapunzel to stay unnoticed, rather explicitly in fact, and he was going to be thrown out on the street for having her in his room, unless he could come up with an excellent reason for her being there. He dropped the crate rather unceremoniously by his door-which was slightly ajar-before shoving it open and shouting, "I can explain!"

The sight that greeted him was not altogether reassuring in its strangeness. The first thing that struck him was how suddenly _clean _the small room had become. The clutter on his dresser had been rearranged. His clothes on the floor were gone, and his bed neatly made. The floor looked swept, and even the window had been scrubbed.

In the center of the room, Rapunzel and Ms. Ward sat on stools stared at him, startled by his entrance. A third stool rested between them, and on top of that was a tea tray that had seen better days. Rapunzel's hand had frozen halfway in its journey to her mouth, her eyes wide. Flynn realized that his outburst was probably appalling and not at all helpful. He cleared his throat.

"Evening, Missus Ward."

His stern-faced landlady coughed. "Quite."

Flynn glanced at Rapunzel, who gave him a slight grin. "Hello."

"Hello," he returned, then moved to Ms. Ward. "Listen, I can explain everything-"

"No need, Mister Rider," Ms. Ward said primly, standing and smoothing her skirt. "She's told me everything."

"Everything?" His voice cracked.

"Yes. A right noble thing of you to do to help your cousin in her time of need."

Flynn felt his knees go weak. Rapunzel had already done what he was planning to do. He hadn't expected her to lie, of course, and was rather surprised she had it in her. "Oh. Yes. My cousin."

"I had no idea you had any family, Mister Rider."

"Yeah, well, we're not all that close," Flynn said, nudging the box to the wall, out of sight from the doorway. No need for his landlady to get too curious on her way out. "But I'm a nice guy."

"So I see. Where did you say you were from again, dear?"

"Germany," Rapunzel answered.

"Ohio," Flynn said at the same time. Ms. Ward looked at them both.

"Germany, Ohio," Flynn corrected quickly. "A small town, you've probably never heard of it."

"Ah," Ms. Ward picked up her tray. "Well, it is a pity that the train service lost your things, dear. You can't be expected to make it in the city with only the clothes on your back." Flynn had managed such a thing just fine, but he didn't say so as the woman continued, "I'll see if my niece left anything in the attic during her summer holiday. She's just about your height." She pushed past Flynn, who pressed himself against the wall. "And perhaps a second mattress for you, Mister Rider."

"Thanks, Missus Ward. Here," he fumbled at his pockets. "I've got the rest of the rent for you-"

"Keep that for next month. Your cousin has already taken care of it," Ms. Ward said, stomping down the stairs, tray rattling.

Flynn swallowed his surprise as he threw himself through the doorway, kicking his box inside with uncalled vehemence. All of the stress of the day had been for nothing-and that, somehow, made it worse.

"I told you to stay inside!"

Rapunzel was taken aback, but recovered. "I was bored!"

"I don't care! I told you, it's dangerous outside." Flynn said, shoving his cargo beneath the bed and tossed the paper onto his pillow.

"You left me here with nothing to do!"

"That doesn't mean you can be careless! Shit!"

Rapunzel crossed her arms. "Just what are you so worried about all of the time?"

He couldn't very well tell her the truth. "Nothing." He yanked the window open. On the fire escape outside, he saw his shirts, drying on the railing. They smelled faintly of lavender. "Where'd you get the soap?"

"Missus Hamish, downstairs," Rapunzel scowled.

Flynn dug a cigarette out of his pocket and swore under his breath. "I hate women," he said angrily, pulling himself onto the metal stairs. He heard Rapunzel's indignant huff, and Ms. Ward's return. Rapunzel thanked her for whatever the woman had brought, but Flynn didn't try to see. Instead he glared at the darkening sky, wondering just what he'd done to get himself into this mess.

Three smokes and an hour later, Flynn had begun to lose feeling in his hands and realize that his words to Rapunzel might have been just a bit harsh. As he pulled himself back inside, he inhaled the smell of beef stew, and saw a pair of bowls on the dresser, steam wafting from the brown sludge they contained. Rapunzel sat on his bed, staring at the paper, though her eyes did not move as if she were reading it.

Once he'd straightened and closed the window, Flynn coughed. "Hey, Blondie," he said quietly. "I'm sorry. About before." He was a stranger to apologies, standing with his cap in his hands, avoiding the lumpy, slightly mildewed mattress that had appeared on his floor as he leaned over to light the lamp.

Rapunzel lowered the paper, plastering a wane grin to her face. He looked almost childish, averting his eyes and shifting his weight from foot to foot. "It's alright." She pointed to the bowls. "Missus Hamish brought them. Are you hungry?"

"Starved."

They ate in silence, sitting on the bed, since Ms. Ward had taken her stools away. As Flynn took in his clean room once again, he figured Rapunzel had been the cause.

When they'd both finished, the girl stood to take their bowls back to the Mrs. Hamish that Flynn had never bothered to meet. Before she left, however, he said, "Thanks."

"For what?"

He would not look at her. Rapunzel watched him carefully. "For, uh, this," he gestured around vaguely. "And for the rent. You didn't have to do that."

She laughed softly. "We made a deal to help each other out," she said. Flynn sounded almost ashamed of his gratitude, so she did not linger, instead pushing the door open and dashing down the stairs. When she came back, he was half hanging out of the window, pulling his shirts from the fire escape.

As he hung them up in the closet, he suggested, "I was thinking, tomorrow, since I have the day off, we could head uptown again. Find something to do."

"Really?" She clapped her hands together, eyes bright. Then she realized how foolishly eager she looked. More primly, she added, "I mean, okay. That sounds good."

He smirked over his shoulder. "Nothing too fancy. I'm not made of money, you know."

"Don't worry about that," Rapunzel looked at her coat, which hung beside Flynn's own dilapidated jacket. "I've got money covered."

"Yeah, I figured."

She couldn't decipher his tone, but he plucked up his radio before she could ask him what he'd meant. "How about some music? I'm beat. And you'll want to get some sleep. Need to get started early tomorrow."

"Okay."

Ms. Ward had provided him a few moth-eaten blankets along with the mattress. Neatly folded at the foot of his bed were girl's clothes: Ms. Ward's niece's unwitting hand-me-downs, no doubt. They were a bit more recent in make than Rapunzel's current outfit, and even included a pair of pajamas. She sidled into the bathroom to change as Flynn settled himself down. The mattress was a small improvement from the floor, but if he sat up, leaning with his back against the bedside table, he could listen to the men's voices coming through the radio's cracking speakers. They only repeated the headlines he'd read earlier, so he switched it off.

Rapunzel came out of the bathroom, jumping over his outstretched legs and to his bed, the springs protesting her exuberant landing.

"Careful, Blondie," he warned, but she only giggled. She gathered her loose hair into her lap and began to braid it, humming to herself.

That was still decidedly odd to Flynn. "Why so long?" He asked.

"Mother likes it this way," she answered simply.

"She also liked you locked up in that apartment," he pointed out. "But you aren't."

Consternation was strange to see passing over Rapunzel's normally contented face. "No, I'm not." She looked at him. "It's just always been like this, I guess."

He yawned. Work took a lot out of him, and he didn't much care if it was rude to be so obviously exhausted. "Well, you'll have to be careful with that tomorrow," he advised, letting his eyes slide shut. He didn't recognize her song, but it had a lulling, comforting sound to it.

Rapunzel pushed her hair back and forth, slowly, in the habitual motion of braiding. It did not take long for Flynn's breath to even out, and she found that he had a quiet sort of snore. Her mother never did that, and she caught herself grinning at the sound.

She got up only to close the window, careful to avoid disturbing her reluctant host and guide. His bed squeaked again as she climbed into it and pulled the blanket up and against the invasive cold. As she turned the lamp off, its yellow light was replaced by the cold illumination of the moon. Even as she remembered that tomorrow they would have to make an early start, it would take her hours to fall asleep, every nerve in her body abuzz with excitement.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

"I've never felt grass before."

It was curious, to say the least. It was warmer that day than previous ones, though the morning's fog still clung to the greenery of Central Park, lending the grass a wet sheen. Most of the trees were already bare of leaves, their branches instead clutching at the wide-open sky in adulation.

Rapunzel stood off to the side of the Park's path, feeling the slick ground beneath her feet. There were rocks, too, and dirt, that felt strange against her toes, but she wouldn't budge. She wanted to feel all of it.

"Come on, Blondie," Flynn was saying, incredulous. "Never in your life?"

Rapunzel shook her head, taking a step farther away from the walkway. A twig broke beneath her heel. The path, winding through the rectangular acres that took up the middle of Manhattan, was surrounded by trees, but beyond them, she could see an open expanse, and a man-made lake. Chilly as it was, people still strolled through it; mostly couples, or nannies, with children in tow.

She could hear Flynn calling for her as she took off for the lakeside. She'd never been able to run, not like this. The wind tore at her hair, pulling it out behind her like a maypole streamer. Her skirt tangled around her legs, and she felt dirt fly as her feet hit the ground. She laughed aloud, not caring that her behavior was the sort normally reserved for children, and she was drawing the disapproval of the people who saw. Running was such a fantastic way to get around, and she wondered why people didn't just run _everywhere._

Flynn gave up on calling Rapunzel back, instead bending down to pick up her shoes. When he straightened, he paused, listening.

The whistle he'd heard sounded a second time. It was no bird call, though it could be dismissed as one by people who didn't know better. Apprehensively, he glanced around for the source.

He found it in a man leaning against a tree some yards behind him. Short, the fellow had the air of a snake-and nearly looked like one. Tilting up the brim of his cap in greeting, the man sneered at Flynn, his teeth crooked beneath his hooked nose. His clothes were dirty, his skin pale and pockmarked. Flynn already knew that his voice would sound the way slime felt.

Flynn was frozen in place with fear, but he did not let it show on his face. The Tatiascore had finally found him. In fact, he was surprised it had taken this long already.

He considered his options. Running always seemed to make things worse for those the Tatiascore had marked as dead men. Then again, he hadn't been shot yet, so perhaps the impossible had happened, and they'd forgiven him for stepping out of line. That thought had barely crossed his mind when the other suddenly appeared impatiently at his elbow.

"Nice day for a stroll, eh, Rider?"

"It is, isn't it, Claude?" Flynn choked out an answer. Claude spoke with a thick Cockney accent, which only added to his unpleasant demeanor.

"Who's the broad?"

Flynn looked out over the expanse, trying to find Rapunzel with his eyes. She was not hard to spot, and seemed to have gathered a flock of children. They gabbled eagerly, and she seemed to fit right in, laughing and asking questions. It was a picture he would have appreciated under any other circumstance. "Nobody," he answered.

Could it be that Claude didn't know?

Well, he reasoned, no one knew about Rapunzel. But it was his own hide that he was primarily concerned about-the hide that hadn't returned to the Stabbingtons with a rock in hand. _That _would be what Claude knew about.

"My cousin. New in town."

He was getting himself deeper and deeper into trouble. He was a maniac, surely. No one had ever lied to the Tatiascore and lived to see the next day.

"I see," Claude said thoughtfully. "Y'know, we were looking for you the other day. Seemed you and the boys had an errand to run."

Licking his lips, Flynn struggled to remain calm. "Did we?"

"Just a short one. Didn't seem too hard."

"Oh, yeah. I was looking forward to that." The hand that held Rapunzel's shoes was white knuckled. "But I guess they never showed."

"Never showed?" Claude looked dubious-but he didn't look entirely disbelieving, either. "Awful odd. That was a big job. The pops is not going to be happy to hear of this development."

"No, I guess not." Flynn shrugged. "I'd be glad to help, but I've sort of got my hands full." He began to sidle away while he still had a chance. "Maybe I'll drop by once she's out of my hair."

Looking out into the field, the British immigrant asked, "Cousin, eh? Let me guess, on your _father's _side?"

Flynn went cold. That was not a careless question. It was a warning.

Claude's expression made it evident that he knew that his message had gotten through. "Maybe you should bring her by sometime," he suggested. "Let her meet the rest of the family."

"I don't think she'd like that, Claude."

"Oh, but we would so like to get to know 'er."

Claude said nothing more, but he did not have to. He walked away, whistling a merry tune as Flynn grappled with reality.

The Tatiascore didn't know _who _Rapunzel was-or, at least, it didn't seem so. They assumed _what _she was, and that she was important to Flynn. Which, she was. She would be the prize he'd sell to get as far away from the Tatiascore as possible. And he had to take care of that bit of business _soon. _For whatever reason, they were letting him live. For now.

A scream cutting the peaceful November air jerked him back to the present. He expected to see Rapunzel being carried off by a crowd of hooligans, but the truth was somewhat more assuring. She'd had her first run-in with the bane of many park-going children and happy couples: geese.

Rapunzel raced ahead of the obstinate water fowl, shrieking and laughing, the children taking up the rear. She ran to Flynn, feeling the cold sear her lungs. Her chest and legs and arms ached deliciously, and her face was flush with exertion. Even when she knew the geese had left off the chase, she kept running until she was beside him. She bent over and panted, feeling pain shoot through her side, but too euphoric too care.

"Flynn," she wheezed. "Why don't you come play...Flynn?"

He was looking at her strangely. He looked pale, as if he'd seen a ghost.

"Are you okay?"

He thrust her shoes out. "We should get going, Blondie."

Catching her breath, Rapunzel straightened. "But what about the menagerie?" She protested. She had been looking forward to seeing the seals and polar bears, along with the other animals, that were held in the park.

"Not today," Flynn said urgently. He watched her put her shoes on; borrowed from Ms. Ward's absent niece, they were a few sizes too big.

"Okay," Rapunzel huffed. "Then where do we go next?"

Flynn paused. "Uh."

"I know," Rapunzel suddenly grinned. It was her turn to seize his hand and drag him back the way they'd come. "Come on."

"What? Where are we going?" He was relieved that they would not linger, but was not altogether certain about letting her take charge.

"You'll see."

Despite her absolute unfamiliarity with their surroundings, Rapunzel seemed to have no trouble finding their way out of the park. When they were beyond its walls, Flynn tried to slip his hand out of her grasp, but she held fast. She couldn't let him run off, not when she was _finally _having a good time.

The avenue just outside of the park was busy with traffic. Noise and hubbub surrounded them both, blending with the pounding in her ears. She bounced on her heels with excitement, looking up and around and _everywhere. _

"Isn't this amazing, Flynn?"

He grunted. "Stupendous."

She ignored his obvious displeasure, pulling him across the street, alongside countless others who traversed the sidewalk. Once they reached the opposite corner, she paused.

"Which way is seventy-ninth street?"

Flynn finally managed to extricate his hand from hers, using it to point northward after a moment of thinking. "A few blocks that way," he said. "Why? _Where _are we going?"

"To seventy-ninth street."

She was picking up on his sarcasm. Gloating as she strolled down the sidewalk, she admired the stone-clad buildings that made up the blocks around Central Park. Though not nearly as tall as the Ansonia, they were apartments and homes of the wealthy and well to do. People she had only seen through a pair of binoculars now walked right by, none the wiser that they'd been watched. The difference between the Upper West Side and where Flynn lived was almost unreal, as if they both came from two different worlds.

Rapunzel slowed, as much to maneuver around a woman and her burden of hatboxes as to fall into place beside Flynn. To her dismay, she saw that he'd produced another cigarette, watching the smoke rise with a look of dour consternation.

"Hey, Flynn?" She pulled her too-long braid into her arms, pulling out the twigs and leaves that had gotten stuck in it in the park. "Where… where are you from?"

Flynn's face was momentarily obscured by a cloud. "Hmmm?" He hadn't been listening.

"Where are you from?"

He looked so suddenly startled, inhaling sharp enough to start a round of coughing. Recovering, he took another drag, as if the smoke was what kept him upright.

"Sorry, Blondie. I don't do back story." Flynn thought he almost felt guilty for the look of disappointment on her face. Or maybe it was still the cough in his chest. "What about you, Blondie? If you wanted to be out here so bad," he gestured vaguely at the street. "Why didn't you leave before?"

Rapunzel did not look at him, instead focusing very intensely on the ground. She took precarious steps around the various refuse that drifted past. "I don't know. I guess I've just been-we're here!"

Flynn looked up. They were standing on the corner, opposite a wide, robust building that took up the south side of Manhattan Square. Ringed by grass and trees, it had a peaceful, almost serene look to it, despite the surrounding, honking chaos. Windows gleamed on its turrets, and lights shone brightly within. He recognized it instantly, though he'd never been inside.

"The _museum?_"

"Yes!" Rapunzel practically sprinted as soon as they were permitted to cross. The American Museum of Natural History had long been on her list of places to see someday. And that would be _today._

"Come on, Blondie. It's a museum. There's got to be more exciting that things you want to do," Flynn was pleading as he followed her up the museum's front steps.

Rapunzel turned, her foot at the top, her jaw set and stubborn. "You promised, remember?"

"Yeah, but-"

"You promised!"

"Alright. I didn't want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice," Flynn inhaled, tossing down his smoke and grinding it under his boot. He let one foot rest on the step before him. "Here comes the smolder."

Rapunzel watched as he looked down, seeming to collect himself. She was just about to ask him if he was feeling all right when his face reappeared. He'd pursed his lips and arched one brow, making himself look something like a sad puppy and a fish.

She was unmoved.

The stand off only lasted a few moments. "Fine," Flynn moaned. "We'll look at the dead stuff."

Rapunzel grinned and hauled him up the last few steps before dragging him inside.

She halted, and he nearly crashed into her backside. "Careful," he mumbled, slightly disturbed that his smolder-something that usually won over the neighborhood girls and earned him an occasional free lunch-seemed to have no effect.

She didn't seem to notice his distress, however; as soon as she'd paid admission for them both (another source of chagrin) she took off down one of the Museum's well-lit corridors. Flynn gave one of the Museum's attendants a shrug of apology before tagging along behind.

Rapunzel wanted to see _everything. _She wanted to touch and feel it too, but glass cases and ropes prevented most of that. She'd seen pictures of the Museum, read articles about its latest acquisitions, dreamed of seeing them for herself. She was awestruck by the sight of the great African elephants, brought to the Museum by President Roosevelt years before, alongside specimens of creatures that were no doubt graceful while leaping across far away savannas and dwelling deep in exotic jungles. Her eyes glued themselves to the placards beside every exhibit and she drowned herself in the knowledge, wondering if she would ever get to see them in their living glory.

She ignored Flynn, who was walking with heavy steps, arms crossed, a bad-tempered look on his face. She flitted from one hall to the next, delighting in the way the sunlight fell in through the high windows and onto the dioramas and displays. Her enthusiasm would not be stayed.

The girl did seem to tire, however, as she moved from one wing of the building to the second. She paused outside the entrance of one room, this one marked simply _Precious Stones and Metals from Around the World._ Stepping inside, she took in the sight of case after case of glimmering gems; some cut, some uncut. Some were dull shades of rusty brown and red, while others were clear and vibrant blues and greens and purples. Her mother was never one much for jewelry, and neither was she. It was the idea that something so beautiful could come out of the ordinary brown earth that captivated her imagination.

Flynn stalled in the doorway, scowling. Glancing up from an array of quartz-filled geodes, Rapunzel mimicked his expression.

"You know, I thought you of all people would be interested in these," she said, her voice carrying across the room. Her companion pushed himself forward, nonplussed.

"Why would you think that?" He queried as he came alongside her.

"Well, because," Rapunzel moved away, trying to keep her sudden feeling of dread from her voice. "You're after that Crown Diamond, aren't you?"

Flynn's brow furrowed. "Ah. Yeah. I am."

Rapunzel watched him carefully, guilt tugging at her thoughts. Stealing was wrong, of course. Terrible, even. Her mother had been sure to teach her that. However, she'd made a deal with Flynn-to help him get that Diamond, in exchange for taking her through the city. He'd made good on his end of the bargain so far-but could she keep hers?

She did not think she was capable of betraying her mother, despite her disobedience the past few days. Yet, at the same time, she did not want to let Flynn down. He hadn't really mentioned it since they'd set out, but she could hardly believe he'd forgotten about it.

"You said you weren't a thief," she suddenly asked. "So why do you need it?"

He didn't seem interested in any of the rocks that were laid out before them, but he did not seem all that interested in her, either, as he answered.

"I need it for a job."

"What sort of job?"

"An _illegal _sort of job," he said abruptly.

Rapunzel would not accept the finality of his tone. "Why are you doing it if it's illegal? It's wrong, and you could get in a lot of trouble-"

"Blondie," he interrupted her, though it was gentle. "The world isn't black and white. Sometimes…" He breathed in and out, hunting for the right words. "Sometimes what you have to do isn't always what's right."

He hoped that she understood him, though it was impossible to tell by the look on her face. He didn't know why it was suddenly important for her to accept what he'd said and not push it any farther. He was no longer after the Diamond, but he couldn't very well tell her that _she _was going to be his next con. If he survived to pull it off, anyway. The Tatiascore were onto him. Why they hadn't killed him yet, he reasoned was just some sort of torture. Or, they had a good reason.

He wasn't going to let them use him. Not again.

Not the way he was using Rapunzel to get what he wanted.

Shaking his head, he tried to banish the thought. What he was doing was _not _the same as what the Tatiascore did. They blackmailed. Burned down buildings. Killed people. Rapunzel would be much worse off if she was in their hands.

And that was not an impossibility.

Flynn realized that the Tatiascore could snatch her right from him if they saw fit, and if they found a way to do it. Brute strength would be a good method, but Flynn had speed (and, as he liked to think, greater intelligence) on his side. He returned to the door, glancing back at Rapunzel, who still thought he was nothing more than a man who needed a rock for a good cause. For a moment, he regretted not following his first plan and simply tying her up in his closet until he could get a ransom note mailed out.

He could not let the Tatiascore get their hands on a girl who still had no idea what the dark side of this city really held. As she strode past him, humming something happy and tuneless, Flynn tried to convince himself that it was more for his own sake than hers.

* * *

Rapunzel was reluctant to leave the Museum, watching the doormen lock up behind them. Her mind reeled with what she had seen, fueling her imagination. What had been the most astounding had actually been the least substantial: bones, piles of bones that had belonged to monstrous creatures long before. Beside the fossils had been sketches of what might have been. Imagine that! Drawing something you'd never even seen before!

"Can we come back tomorrow?" She asked Flynn as he lit another cigarette.

"No can do, Blondie. I'm working."

Her shoulders sagged, and he continued, "But I'll take you out tomorrow night, I promise."

"Really? Where?"

He gave a strange, shuffling sort of smile. "It's a surprise."

Rapunzel did not get many surprises, and didn't want to ruin this rare treat. "Alright. Where next?"

It wasn't long until five, but already the sky was beginning to darken. "Back home," Flynn shrugged. "If we hurry, we might be able to beat the rush home."

An image of the crowded train flashed through Rapunzel's mind. She did not want to repeat the experience.

"Okay," she agreed, and they marched south. All along the avenue, restaurants and cafes were getting ready for the evening crowd, turning up the lights and setting tables and polishing their windows. They were the sort of places her mother frequented, and she wondered just where her mother was at that moment.

"Hold on," she said, touching Flynn's arm to make him stop. "I'll be right back."

Before he could object, Rapunzel disappeared through the door of one narrow shop, a bell signaling her arrival. Looking up at the glass, Flynn saw that it was a store for stationary, diaries and book covers on display to the public. Beyond the first few shelves, however, it faded into darkness.

Without the girl to keep half an eye on, he turned his attention to the street, watching for a familiar Alfa Romeo, or the crooked teeth of Claude. People walked past him without really seeing; it was natural. He was not dressed like them, did not carry himself like they did. Certainly did not attend the lavish parties or shows or have the same modicum of class that they did. He really didn't want it.

Rapunzel seemed to be gone longer than necessary. He began to pace, nearly treading on several toes as he looked from the store front to the street and back again. He nearly collided with her as the bell sounded again and she returned to the sidewalk.

"Are you all right?" She looked puzzled, and he realized he must have looked ridiculous.

"What? Yes. Of course."

She gave him a smile. In her arms, along with her braid, she clutched a paper-wrapped bundle, but he didn't bother asking what it was. "Are we off?"

She answered with a nod, and he continued. His strides were unnecessarily long, and she struggled to follow. He didn't care. He'd wanted to run straight back to his tenement as soon as he'd laid eyes on Claude that morning, and he knew that staying so close, so vulnerable, had been a terrible idea.

"Keep up, blondie," he muttered. To her credit, she didn't complain, but shot him a glare as they waited to cross the street.

The ride home was crowded. It had been too much to hope to avoid it. Flynn was grateful-it would make them more difficult to follow, if, indeed, they were being followed. He did not want to take any chances. Rapunzel hung onto her package with small, white knuckled hands, refusing to look at any of their fellow passengers.

Impulsively, when the train paused at one, dark-walled station, he drew his arm around her shoulders. "Nearly there," he said in what he hoped could pass as a reassuring tone. She only grimaced in answer.

Once they'd returned to Five Points, to his street, and finally, to his narrow hole of a room, he locked the door with immeasurable relief. Rapunzel did not seem to notice, leaping to sit on his bed, light the lamp, and immediately uncover her prize.

It was a book. Its brown, handmade cover lacked any title or authorship, as did its spine. She opened it up, revealing creamy blank pages.

"A sketchbook?" Flynn asked. She nodded, producing a handful of narrow charcoal sticks, evidently bought from the same store. She said nothing more as she hunched over, hands flying across the page.

He eased down onto the spare mattress with a heavy groan. The stress of his day had begun to invest in a headache that rolled between his temples and down the back of his neck. He quickly discarded his hat and boots, but didn't dare remove anything else. His eyes closed for what seemed only a second before Rapunzel burst in,

"Flynn, what do you think?"

He peeled one sandpaper-eyelid back to view the sketch before him. It was a bear, not unlike one of the stuffed models they'd seen in the Museum. Standing on its hind legs, claws extended, mouth agape, it was a rather ferocious specimen.

Her drawing was nearly spot on. "Not bad, Blondie," he mumbled sincerely. She withdrew and frowned at it. A black smudge had appeared on right side of her nose.

"I don't think I got the nose right."

Flynn remembered the walls of her room. Paintings, drawings, and sketches had covered every available inch of space, and then some. It was never something he'd ever had the urge to try, but he figured that holed up as she was for her entire life, that was something of an escape.

He didn't bother opening his eyes again when she asked, "Did you ever want to see any of these animals, Flynn? I mean, real, living ones. And in the places that they lived."

"No," he grunted. He was not an animal sort of person.

"You've never wanted to go somewhere far away? Someplace you've only dreamed of?"

He had, in a way. Whenever he imagined being free of the Tatiascore, he never had anywhere specific in mind. He only knew he would be liberated, and he'd never have to see them, or the damned, dirty city, ever again. It was so close that he could almost taste it. All he had to do was get five minutes to himself, and find a way to trade Rapunzel in for the money that could make it happen.

"_No,_" he repeated, rolling over and stuffing his jacket under his head as a substitute for his pillow.

Rapunzel fell silent. Flynn's stiff back discouraged more questions, and she reminded herself that he did have to work. It made her sad, somehow; she couldn't believe that he didn't have a dream, and she was going to find a way to make him tell her.

It was not much later that she closed her book, inhaling the scent of new pages as she doused the lamp. The rise and fall of Flynn's sides betrayed his sleep, so he did not hear her as she climbed under the covers and gave him a quiet, "Goodnight."

* * *

Author's Note

It's been easier for me to write in Flynn's point of view, or to write a Flynn-centric story. I relate better to him and what he's all about. I try to do Rapunzel justice, though, because she is as much a compelling character. Her innocence is a large part of her, but she's not a complete airhead.

My portrayal of the Museum of Natural History is probably not entirely accurate. The Museum I'm familiar with has all of its wings and exhibits and history, and the Museum back then was significantly smaller. I didn't find much info on what was _inside _the Museum, though I did find a few pictures of what it looked like on the outside.

PS. I decided to stop making chapter names... They don't come very easily, and aren't entirely necessary anyway.


	6. Chapter Six

More than once, it has occurred to me that I should've made this story take place during the summer. A nice Fourth of July celebration might have been a good equivalent to the lanterns from _Tangled_. Well, it is what it is, and it's too late to turn back now.

After watching the movie again, I realized something that I didn't really get the first five or six times around. Besides being beautiful and atmospheric, the lanterns that the people of Corona release are symbols of their hopes and dreams; figuring that in made the scene a thousand times more touching. Or maybe I'm just a sap.

Which might be hard to tell, cuz it seems like the romance in this story has been a bit slow to get started. Thank you to everybody who's been reading, and leaving helpful reviews. Hopefully this chapter will stoke the fluff beasts' appetites without going overboard.

* * *

Chapter Six

Applause sank in, like a soft rain, fading beneath Gothel's skin, an assuring sound of appreciation for her talents. Lips curling up in a smile, the woman gestured to her audience, silently thanking them for what she had taken in return.

It was no where near what Rapunzel could do with her voice, but Gothel's ability to steal, bit by bit, from her watchers had been enough to keep her going for long enough, and it was what she relied on now that the girl was gone. Her thoughts revolved around the high-spirited girl as she saw two familiar hulks slip in through the club's front door. The lunch crowd wasn't much to boast, not in this neighborhood, at least, but Gothel would make do until Rapunzel was returned.

She slipped off the stage and to the small, closet-like excuse of a dressing room in the back. The girls that had served as her backup singers were quick to scurry out of her way, like mice before a stalking kitchen cat.

Gothel tugged at her face, scrutinizing the reflection in the dressing room's mirror. The bright lights were unflattering even on the most youthful of faces, and she'd had to work overtime to paint herself into something decent. Even her clothes did not hang right, but she was saved from that embarrassment by the bulky winter coat that the weather and fashion required. After peeking inside of her heavy hand bag and exiting, she was not surprised when her two escorts-cum-drivers were waiting outside of the door.

"Hello, boys," she said smoothly. They each made an identical gesture of tugging on their hats.

"Hello, Miss Morse," said the more talkative of the two, Ron, following her as his one-eyed brother, Junior, lead them out. "Quite a performance you put on."

"It pays the bills, Stabbington."

She climbed into the wide back of their shining Alfa Romeo, not looking back as Ron pulled them away from the curb and into noontime traffic. Manhattan had changed much since she'd arrived on its shores just short of eighteen years before, but she had grown immune to the chaotic progress of the world. There was not much that surprised her anymore.

Rapunzel's disappearance, however, had been unpleasantly unexpected. She'd believed her child to be perfectly happy. She'd done everything she could to insure that Rapunzel was perfectly terrified of the world outside of the Ansonia, and would never dare to venture beyond the apartment. Gothel's confidence in that was enough to have her believe that Rapunzel had not gone of her own free will: she would have had to have been taken.

Who would take Rapunzel, Gothel did not know. Anybody else who knew that the girl was alive were themselves long dead. The Ansonia's security had been little help, and the same story from the police-with a city as large as New York, it would be nearly impossible to find a single girl, if she was even still in the city at all. There was little Gothel could do to prove that Rapunzel even existed, since she'd done so well to keep the girl a secret.

That anyone realized just what Rapunzel could do was even less likely. Rapunzel had kept her alive, and Gothel, in return, had done all she could to keep her happy. Perhaps, she had gained some happiness in return. Even while she knew that her use for Rapunzel would have been over had the Gala gone on as scheduled, Gothel could not imagine a life without her.

Slightly more infuriating than that was imagining anyone else reaping the rewards of Rapunzel's gift. Lifetimes of suspicion and despair made her wary of even the Tatiascore, despite their dealings over the years. Scipio and his gang of well-dressed thugs were not exempt from her scrutiny, something she made sure did not show on her face as they pulled up to the brief space in front of Torregrossa's, an Italian restaurant that boasted the most coveted tables on the West Side, and discreet seating for those who had less than legitimate business to attend. It was not hard to see why it was Scipio Tatiascore's favorite place for lunch.

Parking out front was, of course, out of the question. "I'll pull around," Ron grunted as Junior opened Gothel's door. The younger Stabbington led the singer into a smoky, quiet room, hushed voices slipping out from thickly cushioned booths that filled the restaurant. The light was mild, the smell a mixture of tobacco and cooking herbs. Gothel paid no mind to the other patrons, moving around Junior and crowded tables and toward the stairs in the back that would lead up to the second floor, and the private dining rooms, where Scipio already waited. Her heels were quiet on the plush carpeting of the stairs and the hallway that opened up at their top. Doorways were blocked off with red curtains, and from behind one she could hear the soft murmur of voices.

Gothel's lips pursed. She had expected Scipio to come alone, as he always had whenever they met. Approaching the curtain, she paused, signaling Junior to stop as she listened.

"Saw him with my own eyes, gov," came a drawl that she had heard somewhere, once before. "She's with him, alright. Sweet little biddy, too."

"You can't be sure she is Gothel's." That was Scipio.

"But you should've seen him jump! It's her. He knows we've got him by the goose eggs."

"After we sent him for that diamond and he never came back, he would know he was in trouble." Scipio sighed. Gothel could imagine him wiping at his brow with his usual greasy handkerchief. "Now he's only made it worse for himself. "

"We don't know where he is now, boss, but that won't take long," the first voice was all too eager. "What'll we do with 'em when we have 'em?"

"Rider can follow in his father's footsteps in a pair of cement shoes, for all I care. The girl," Scipio's voice trailed off in thought. "Once we've taken care of the old lady, I suppose we can convince the girl to part with her sizeable inheritance."

Gothel looked back at Junior; his face had grown suddenly pale. He snatched after her as she threw open the curtain, crossing the private room with swift, raging steps. Scipio sat at the head of the rectangular oaken table, behind him, a window with the view of the boulevard. A scrawny mouse of a man was at his side, one that Gothel recognized as Claude. They'd spoken once before, when Scipio had directed her to enlist the man's help to find Rapunzel. He'd promised to be discreet, and now she could see why.

Her hand delved into her purse, and Scipio felt the cold kiss of her revolver against the underside of his chin before he could react to her dramatic entrance. Claude was another step behind, jumping away from the table with a ratlike squeak.

"I'm afraid _you're _the one who's made it worse for himself," Gothel said icily. Scipio's head was bent uncomfortably, but he said nothing, no expression flickering across his face as he stared at her. "Sent him for the diamond? You intended to cut me out of the deal, Tatiascore."

Gothel was ashamed of herself for not seeing it coming, though she'd intended to do just the same, at least until all of their plans had hit a snag. Her frown deepened, and the room resounded with the click of her revolver's safety.

Scipio cleared his throat, glancing at Claude, and then at the younger Stabbington, who had frozen in the doorway, pistol in one too-large hand. Claude had found a small knife somewhere on his own person, but made no move to use it, apparently rooted in place by shock.

"You're a loose end, Gothel," Scipio finally said. "Loose ends are bad for the family. You understand."

"All too well," Gothel replied. "All that trouble for a diamond. But you've taken my little girl now, Tatiascore. Where have you got her?"

Scipio only sneered. With a snarl of frustration, Gothel pulled her gun away from the mob boss and pointed it at his sniveling right-hand man. Claude quailed as she shouted, "_Where is she?_"

"With Rider!" He bawled, backing away, knife forgotten in his quivering grip. He was not accustomed to being held at gunpoint. "The stupid wank!"

He did not suffer that for long, as the metal returned to Scipio's throat. "Rider?" Gothel asked. "Who is Rider?"

Scipio answered almost offhandedly, "Helpful man, that Flynn Rider. Why don't you ask Junior over there? He and his brother are quite familiar with him."

As if summoned, Ron appeared beside Junior, taking in what was going on with a decidedly more calm expression than his younger sibling.

"Rider ain't ours anymore," Claude said quickly, nose running. "He was supposed to go in and get it and get out. We didn't think he'd run out on us."

They hadn't known Gothel had a girl in that apartment. The woman's mind worked furiously: she'd never heard mention of this Rider, and while he may have worked for the Tatiascore once upon a time, it looked like he'd found his way onto their bad side-and with Rapunzel in tow.

"You won't lay a finger on her," Gothel hissed, pulling back the aged revolver's hammer. For the first time, she saw fear pass through Scipio's eyes. "And I will make sure you never so much as _see _that diamond in the papers, Tatiascore. Consider the deal off."

She moved her hand, and pulled the trigger. Scipio's scream chased the sound of the gun blast, echoed by shouts from the rooms below. He clutched his left leg, his thigh now a ground-up mess of bone and blood.

Claude howled. Gothel only told him, "He won't die. Not right away," before moving away from the writhing mob boss. The Stabbingtons watched her approach, making no move to help Scipio-but no move to shoot her, either. They were large enough that their guns seemed like toys in their hands, yet they were transfixed by the smaller woman who had reduced the most powerful crime lord in New York City to a sobbing wreck.

"How long had he been planning this, boys?"

Neither of them answered immediately, but when Gothel turned the gun's chamber, Junior was the one to confess, "Three months. He'd been planning since you were picked to sing at the Gala."

Gothel's nose wrinkled. "Listen. You are no longer with that sorry Sicilian over there. You work for _me._"

Ron was uneasy, his gaze moving from Gothel to Scipio and back again. "Why should we do it?" He demanded, though the belligerence in his tone was weak.

Gothel knew this game. She had used it on Scipio, and countless other men before him, and she knew she would do it plenty in the future.

"Rider ran out on you," she reminded them gently, though loud enough to be heard over Scipio's cries of agony and Claude's similar noises of distress. "If he'd had the diamond, he'd surely have left with that, but instead he's got my daughter."

Casually, she brushed bits of gore from her coat. The Stabbingtons looked at each other, not altogether certain. She had them trapped between a revolver and a hard place.

"You will help me find my daughter," Gothel continued. "You'll get the reward you never would have gotten from the Tatiascore, and certainly not from your foolish partner. And that isn't even the best part."

Ron's eyes narrowed, though he and his brother both lowered their pistols. "What's the best part?"

"Revenge on Flynn Rider."

* * *

_I am going to write this ransom letter even if it kills me._

The irony of the thought was not lost on its bearer. Flynn Rider knew very well that if he didn't, it would kill him. If he did, there was still the very real possibility that he'd be caught by the police, or the Tatiascore, and he'd still end up dead. And of course he would not discount the times he'd nearly strangled himself directly because of the flax-haired girl he'd found himself tangled up with.

Flynn stared at the page in his right hand, clutching a pencil in his left. As he stared at it, he recalled that he'd snatched the paper right out of Rapunzel's sketchbook. On the page before it had been scribbles of geese and people, and even a few leaf rubbings.

"Why do you do this stuff?" He'd asked that morning, pulling on his jacket to leave.

"I used to draw because I didn't have anything else to do," Rapunzel had answered from the bed, laying on her belly, charcoal skimming the page with a rough sound. "Now I'm drawing so I'll remember everything we've done so far."

Flynn knew she would remember their time together, but not for the reasons she thought she would. She seemed happy at the moment, but once he was through, once he'd written his letter and gotten his money, he knew that she would hate him.

But she didn't hate him when he'd reached for the doorknob, heading for another dreary day at the docks. The weather, at least, had improved. She didn't hate him when she'd bounced off his bed, plucking up his cap from where he'd left it on his bedside table. Hardly a narrow space between them, she'd offered him his hat and grinned, "Have a good day at work."

That small phrase, no doubt uttered by a hundred thousand housewives all through Manhattan at the same moment, had sounded very strange to Flynn's ears. Like something he had _wanted _to hear, but never expected he would-and had no idea how to behave now that he had.

"Thanks," he'd mumbled elegantly, tugging the cap over his ears and shoving through the door before her upturned face could convince him to feel terrible about leaving her alone all day. _Again. _

Well, not quite alone. She had Ms. Ward to help with chores, but he would not wish his aggravated landlady on anyone. Rapunzel, however, seemed immune to her strict Irish-Catholic standards of behavior, and Flynn could not help but suspect that if the Tatiascore, for some reason or another, appeared at his tenement, guns blazing, Ms. Ward would probably put up a helluva fight.

He shook that thought from his head. Even if Claude's appearance the day before had been a warning, not even the Stabbingtons knew where he lived, and Five Points was a dangerous maze to outsiders. Rapunzel was safe, for now.

Flynn laughed softly to himself. A week ago, he didn't have anyone else's safety to worry about but his own. He was working overtime to assure himself that the concern he had for Rapunzel was the same as a farmer's concern for his chickens. He'd already worked too hard on this investment to see it go south. As nice as it was to have someone to keep him company, another warm body to fill the silence in his ramshackle little room, he reminded himself that this was strictly business.

He was doing her a favor, Flynn knew. She would not last in the hands of the Tatiascore. Which is why he had to buckle down and write this _damn_ letter, so he could get her back in the Ansonia, with her mother, where she belonged. He wouldn't have to worry when he was thousands of miles away, maybe on a private island, somewhere warm and sunny. He'd be tanned, well rested, and most importantly, alone. There would be no one to tell him to have a good day at work, because he would put that whole _working _scheme behind him.

Rapunzel wouldn't come away entirely bitter, he hoped. He'd shown her the nicer bits of the city. Even that Museum. She'd gotten what she wanted, and he would get his due. He could only hope that maybe she wouldn't hate him _that _much. As much as he enjoyed seeing the way her nose wrinkled when she was irritated, he had a feeling that his inevitable betrayal was going to result in something much less forgiving.

Flynn groaned in frustration. He was getting nowhere with this ransom note. Folding the paper and shoving it back in his pocket, he looked up in time to watch Captain Tannenbaum and Max pass by the wharf's fence. The white dog glared at him with unnatural hostility, and Flynn felt no shame in glaring right back. The mood he was in at that moment, he was fairly sure that if the dog ever bit him, he would bite right back.

"Rider!"

Flynn turned at the sound of his supervisor's voice. "What!" He bellowed in return, thoroughly disgusted with himself, and by extension, everyone else.

His supervisor was unimpressed. "You're coming in tomorrow," he said flatly, scribbling Flynn's name on the clip of papers he always had with him.

"What? Boss, you can't do that," Flynn protested. He was not in the mood. No doubt Rapunzel would be disappointed, too, but Flynn remembered that he didn't care. Not much.

"The hell I can, Rider. You know Mondays are busy, and Dmitri threw his back this morning. Wrap up your lunch, you son of a bitch. You can either come in tomorrow or not come back at all."

The shrieking whistle that signaled the end of Flynn's break made him wince. "Yeah, sure," he said to his supervisor's retreating back. He had half a mind to make good on the threat, but until Rapunzel was gone, and his job done, he would have to put in his hours like every other man.

He tried to avoid thinking about the girl for the rest of the day, but like most things he'd put his mind to, it seemed to be impossible. He overheard the other men of the docks talking about places they'd taken their dates over the weekend, to shows, or to the seaside, or even upstate for Armistice Day celebrations. Flynn found himself make a mental checklist of places to take Rapunzel that she might enjoy seeing before shoving it out of his mind. As he lifted and heaved and pushed to and fro, he remembered that they just wouldn't have the time.

Besides, now that she'd seen some of the city, she wouldn't be so frightened. He didn't know _why _Gothel had been so determined to keep her up there, but at least she'd had a taste. Maybe she'd be able to go out on her own, learn the city without his help. Hell, he might even see her around, and she'd forgive him for being an absolute piece of work and they could grab a bite to eat and he could see her smile in the soft lights of Uptown...

He had to stop. Once Rapunzel was gone, he was going to jump town, leave her and the Tatiascore, Five Points, and even his Tagnoski friends behind. Tonight, at least, he'd be able to show her a good time, but that would be the end of it. It would be simply a waiting game after that, if he could ever get his letter written.

More than once, Flynn's cohort's conversations would turn to the nights that followed their outings, and he was determined to avoid listening to _those _altogether. Not that he couldn't appreciate them, but the idea of Rapunzel, cute as she was, she was too innocent for it. Too _good. _Not like the floozies that the men around him kept. He was fairly sure she didn't know a thing about what happened between a man and his dame, else she would have been reluctant to sleep in his bed, let alone spend the last few nights in his apartment. It would also explain why she'd been immune to the usual effects of the smolder.

Of course, Rapunzel was no floozy. She was not an ordinary girl in any sense of the word, Flynn knew-and forced himself to stop thinking about. There was work to be done, and he wouldn't be able to collect his ransom if he was knocked overboard or crushed under a carelessly handled crate.

But at least he'd have significantly less to worry about.

* * *

He didn't have anything else to keep his mind busy on the walk home until he bought the Sunday edition of the newspaper from one bedraggled boy. It wasn't much different from that morning's by way of headlines, and like the ones he'd collected over the past few days, still had no word of a millionaire singer's missing daughter. If he could have suspected of Rapunzel of lying about being Gothel's daughter, he would have called her out on it by now-but she'd made it clear enough that she had no such bad intentions.

Not like he did.

Flynn tucked the paper under his arm as he ducked into his building, taking the steps two at a time, glad for even the slight warmth the fragile walls offered. Outside, light was fading quickly, the cold winter day devoured by the night.

He paused when his hand touched the door to his room. It was unlocked, and he heard only the buzz of the radio. His mind was aflurry with images of Rapunzel being carried off by the Tatiascore's faceless thugs, or the police, or whatever misshapen threats his mind could conjure.

Cautiously, he pushed the door open, fearing what he'd find-or wouldn't find-inside.

Rapunzel, fortunately, was very present. The spare bed had been pushed up against his dresser to make room for a tin tub in the center of the room, in which the girl bathed, her back to the door. The soft noise of splashing surrounded her, drowned out by a trumpet from the radio's dying speaker.

Flynn was sure he should have cleared his throat, coughed, _something, _but he was transfixed. The blue light of the early evening sank in through the window, falling across Rapunzel's slim figure. Her wet hair clung to her bare back and arms and floated in the water, highlighted like the gossamer strands of a spider's web. He could barely see the curve of her cheek, the shell-shape of one ear as she pushed a washcloth against her neck, movements slow. Time itself seemed to cease as he stared, though he knew he shouldn't. She was not the same girl who'd been traipsing through the grass of Central Park, pressing her nose to the windows of Fifth Avenue or cooing at the stuffed bodies of North American animals; she was something almost ethereal, intangible, astoundingly vulnerable. Almost like a cliff note, he noticed that she was humming along with the music.

The newspaper fell from the crook of his elbow, hitting the floor, destroying the peace of the scene. Rapunzel's face jerked around, and she let out a horrified squeal. Her arms wrapped around her torso and she ducked, trying to make herself smaller, and almost ruefully, Flynn realized she was not as ignorant as he'd thought her to be.

Flynn had the awareness to pull his jaw off of the floor and shout, "Sorry! Sorry!" He bent to grab the paper and close the door at the same time, nearly shutting it on his own skull. He half ran, half fell down the stairs and back outside, into the bracing cold, but his face still felt impossibly hot. It would be another half hour of circling the block before he dared to return; a very difficult half hour, where the thoughts he'd been avoiding all day now threatened to swallow him whole.

* * *

Author's Note

Long winded notes from the author on this chapter, herpaderp.

What I've been most concerned about, recently, is my characterization of Gothel. I've gotten great feedback on Flynn and Rapunzel, which makes me feel pretty fantastic, but Gothel, I have to say, is one of my favorite characters of all time. Donna Murphy's performance was off-the-charts. I'm almost hesitant to even call Gothel a villain, because it's not until the end that she really goes bananas. I'm sure Gothel, in the beginning of my story, did not come off as mothery and lovey as she does in the movie, so I tried to soup it up a bit here. It might not have worked.

Now, before you think I fluffed up this chapter just because of reviews, I'll tell you that I've had this story planned out from the very beginning, so it would have been a fluffier chapter whether or not folks asked for it. But, the fact that you did makes me think I've got the pacing right where I want it to be, and that means I'm learning, and I really couldn't do it without the help of everyone who reads and leaves helpful reviews. Thank you to everybody from the bottom of my spaztic little heart, and I promise it get significantly fluffier from here on out.

PS. The whole bathing-Rapunzel, I confess, was an entirely selfish event. It was inspired partially by old concept art from a darker version of the story, as well as just an image that popped into my head. Hopefully I'll have the skill to produce it one day-the image of a girl and gossamer hair, lit up by the moon. It seemed very ethereal and angelic in my head.


	7. Chapter Seven

I finally got my hands on _The Art of Tangled. _Everything in it is so magnificent that I could cry; it is moving and inspiring to see the concept art and hear the story _behind _the story.

This chapter was initially gonna be part of the last, but it would have been too long, so I think I made a good economical decision when I split them up. Plus, I've been excited about writing this chapter since I started the story.

* * *

Chapter Seven

"Who is Eugene?"

He hadn't heard that name in years. Flynn was so startled that his hand jumped, the narrow blade he was using to shave slicing neatly into his cheek. He hissed, grappling for a handkerchief to stem the blood that welled up from the shallow cut.

"Who?" He asked through gritted teeth. He was wearing his best shirt, and it wouldn't do to stain it. He glanced at Rapunzel, who had voiced the question from her perch on his bed. He was surprised that she'd spoken at all, since they'd spent the last hour or so in an uncomfortable, embarrassed silence. It had taken a good deal of wheedling and promising ("I didn't see anything! Not _really._") to get her to let him back inside. She cleaned up rather nicely, though, donning yet another of the borrowed dresses from Ms. Ward; this one had the straight lines that girls preferred to wear these days, and it had a higher hemline than any she'd worn yet. Rapunzel seemed rather conscious of that fact, tugging the skirt down though her stocking-clad knees weren't showing.

"Eugene," she repeated, watching her feet scuff the floor. "I saw the name on some letters I found when I was cleaning. I thought maybe it was a friend of yours…"

She looked up, apologetic about her snooping, and saw the stark red rag on his face. She was up in an instant, her expression a mix of shock and sympathy. "Oh, gosh. I'm sorry."

It didn't hurt that much, but it was messy, and Flynn was more preoccupied with just how he was going to explain the name on those letters. "It's fine, really," he protested as Rapunzel's slim fingers peeled his away. She grimaced.

"It's not that bad," he asserted. She was close enough that he could smell the soap that she had used to clean up with. That was making it difficult to come up with an excuse, and the truth slipped out before he could stop himself. "Eugene… Eugene is me."

Rapunzel paused in her dabbing at his slight injury. "What?"

Flynn felt very awkward, his hands at his sides as he let her continue with her ministrations. He'd already started, so there was no reason for him to stop; and he couldn't help but think, of all people, she deserved it.

"My real name is Eugene Fitzherbert," he clarified. "Those letters-"

He stopped. Very quietly, Rapunzel was humming, her soft hand passing over his cheek, her eyes narrowed in concentration. She looked up when he fell silent. "I'm listening," she said with a reassuring smile, which, considering her behavior, was not at all comforting.

"Well," he coughed, looking up over her head and out the window. Night had fallen quite completely over the south reaches of Manhattan. "Those letters are from my mother."

At last, Rapunzel dropped her hand and stood back. "Your mother?" She grinned, eyes bright. She had no idea that he had family. Returning to her seat, she asked, "What's she like?"

Eugene turned back to the small mirror he was using. He no longer felt blood trickling down his jaw, and was startled at the sight of his reflection. The cut had disappeared completely-perhaps it had been shallower than he'd first thought. He turned this way and that, puzzled, before cautiously resuming his manscaping. He was glad to see that his clumsiness hadn't harmed his characteristic goatee.

"She's, ah," he started to say with some difficulty, brows furrowing. "She was a good woman."

_Was. _The word struck a sorrowful note in Rapunzel's heart. Despite her disobedience, she could not imagine a life without her own mother, without her warmth, her laughter. She felt as though by finding those letters, Rapunzel had somehow stumbled upon some secret.

"I'm sorry, Eugene," she said softly.

"Yeah, well," he replied, his voice a little too loud as he wiped at his face, finished and injury-free. "After the war, we only had enough money to send me here. By the time I'd saved up enough to bring her…" He sat down beside Rapunzel, mimicking her posture, hands folded together between his knees as he stared at the floor. "She was gone."

Rapunzel slid her hand over one of Eugene's forearms, stricken by his solemn display. She'd never seen him so serious, and was saddened by the cloud that had passed over his face.

"There was a book I read to the younger kids," he continued. "_The Tales of Flynnigan Rider. _Swashbuckling rogue of the American West, richest man alive. He could do whatever he wanted, go wherever he wanted to go. When I was a kid, we didn't have much… And this," he gestured around at his miniscule flat, the cold winter outside, the dilapidated furniture, and gave a sardonic laugh. "This seemed like the better option."

They sat like that for a moment before she asked, curious, "What about your father?" Gothel had never told her about her own, even if she had one.

As soon as she'd uttered the words, her host was instantly back on his feet, putting his things away. "He left Poland before I did, and by the time I found him here, he was dead. But I won't bore you with _that _story. It's a bit of a downer."

Eugene didn't want to talk about his father. He hadn't spoken to anyone about him in years. Not even the Tagnoski were bold enough to broach the subject of his old man, and the Tatiascore only ever mentioned him as a threat, a reminder of the debt that Eugene would have to work off. And here was Rapunzel, a girl he'd only known a few days, and had managed to wrangle an honest answer out of him by doing nothing at all.

"Look, you can't tell anyone about this, okay?" He said, turning around. "It would ruin my whole reputation."

"Oh, well, we can't have that."

Eugene grinned ruefully. "A fake reputation is all a man has."

His guest giggled and walked past him to the window. It was half open, the slight breeze bringing in the smell of wood smoke from the back lot. Neighbors had gathered on the patchy, brown grass, surrounding a small fire, talking and singing, celebrating nothing in particular on a night that allowed the stars to blink down from a mostly cloudless sky. She pushed the glass up a bit farther and rested her folded arms on the frame, taking in the scene with a contented smile.

"I like it here," she said after a few moments of silence. "It's so close to the ground."

Behind her, she could hear Eugene finish up his fiddling, and there was a sudden warmth as he appeared at her side. His expression was the scowling opposite of her own. "You've got strange taste, Goldie," he snorted. "I can't wait to get out."

Rapunzel turned her head to watch him, wondering just where he would go. She knew that _she _wanted to see more of the world, even though she'd barely gotten a start on New York City. She'd read and heard so much of so many places, like Europe, and India, and Mexico-and wondered if perhaps they were places that Eugene would want to see, too.

Before she could ask, the grating sound of a car horn tore through the air. Eugene shook off whatever despondency had seemed to have its grip on him and announced, "That's our ride."

Rapunzel knew that the reason she'd gotten dressed up (at least, more dressed up than she'd ever been in her life) was because Eugene was taking her somewhere new, as promised. After pulling on his jacket, he bent down to retrieve his mysterious box from under the bed before leading her down the steps and outside.

At the curb, a shining, red Chrysler Imperial puttered patiently. Two men leaned against it, one that Rapunzel recognized as the large-nosed fellow that had stopped by Eugene's apartment the night she'd arrived. The second bore a thinning mustache and a balding pate beneath his hat. He was significantly more rotund than the first, and somewhat shorter, though they both towered over Rapunzel. Well-dressed in suits that matched their automobile in their obvious expense, they were wrapped up in a conversation with Ms. Ward.

Eugene balked at the unfamiliar sound of his landlady's laughter. As he and Rapunzel approached, the two men tipped their hats to Ms. Ward, who walked by Eugene with a mumbled warning, "Don't get yourself mixed up in any trouble, Mister Rider."

_Too late, _he thought, but answered only with a laugh, "I didn't know you cared."

The two suit-wearing gentlemen straightened up, their attention passing right over Eugene to the girl at his side.

"Mister Norbert Tambor, at your service," the familiar one said, taking Rapunzel's hand and removing his hat in one smooth motion. "So good to finally meet you properly."

Eugene adjusted his grip on his cargo, watching the introductions warily. The fellows that made up the Tagnoski crew were friendly, and not nearly the villains that the Tatiascore were, but mobsters all the same. He knew that he would not be able to stop Rapunzel if she turned tail and ran; and, just as alarmingly, he knew he would not be able to explain himself if the Tagnoski discovered that he had ulterior motives for keeping a girl around.

It appeared, for now, that neither party seemed suspicious. The second man had nudged Tambor aside. "Bradley Hook," he said with a flourish. He revealed the reason for the nickname, whipping his left hand from his pocket; or, rather, where his left hand would have been, was a gleaming, cruel hook.

Eugene flinched. He'd gotten used to the rather gruesome replacement, but Rapunzel had probably never seen anything like before. His worry was in vain, however; the blonde girl's lips formed a little circle of surprise, and she leaned forward.

"How'd you get _that?_" Her tone was genuinely curious, and Mr. Hook laughed triumphantly.

"She's not bad, Rider. Where'd you find her?"

Eugene ignored the question, scowling as he moved around the Imperial to load the box into the back. Neither Hook or Tambor seemed to mind, the former explaining to Rapunzel. "Lost it in the war. Blown clean off, but I can still play the piano with it. Good to meet you, sweetheart. Welcome to the family."

"The family?" Rapunzel asked as Tambor and Hook started to load themselves up into the car.

"Never mind, Blondie," Eugene grumbled, climbing in after them. He saw that she'd only watched as they situated, eyeing the automobile with caution. "Are you coming?"

"Yeah," she said quickly, pulling open the back door and lifting herself into the back seat. "I've never ridden in a car before." She squeaked as the engine purred to life.

The two men in front chuckled as they pulled into the street, heading north. Tambor glanced into the rear view mirror from his spot behind the wheel. "Hey, Rider, I think your landlady is starting to warm up to me," he said smugly.

Eugene snorted. "Have you told her about your extra toes, Norb? That might cool her off."

Tambor only answered with a dissatisfied grunt as Hook roared with laughter. Rapunzel watched out the window, enraptured as the tenementss of Five Points rolled away to the better-kept buildings of Midtown.

"Where are we going?"

"The Tagnoski's pride and joy, The Duckling. The classiest speakeasy in New York," Hook answered with pride. Rapunzel, however, looked dubious.

"Speakeasy?" She turned away from the window to give Eugene an anxious look. "As in, alcohol? _Illegal _alcohol?"

She'd heard from her mother the curses of speakeasies. How alcohol clouded people's judgment and made them do terrible things, and how their adopted country was far better off without it. Like any other forbidden thing, though, she knew people found ways to enjoy it, and heard far too often that they had suffered the consequences.

"You've got to loosen up, Blondie," Eugene's crooked grin was somewhat reassuring. "It's not really that bad."

Rapunzel did her best to look less alarmed as they moved through the trickle of Sunday night traffic. In the front seat, Tambor and Hook discussed the horse races of the day before, who they'd bid on, and their predictions for the next weekend. It was all Greek to Rapunzel, so she returned her gaze to the blocks that slipped by. Lights streamed out into the street from the windows of apartments and restaurants, the profiles of their occupants thrown out like an opulent shadow-play. Flappers hung on to the arms of well-dressed men, laughing in the face of the night's cold as they moved from club to club, their short-cropped hair making Rapunzel reach unconsciously for her own lengthy locks.

Eugene's view was not so colorful. The avenue beside Central Park awarded him only the gloomy silhouettes of naked trees, their branches now seeming like starved ghosts in the darkness. The visit from Claude the day before was fresh in his mind, and he could hardly believe that he would be able to have a good time at the Duckling. He hadn't been by in months, not since he'd stopped drinking. It was a nasty habit that he could not afford (though he always had change to spare for a smoke, a packet of which he was happy to feel in his coat pocket). The Tatiascore, too, had eaten into the time he did not spend working, and he could not risk the Tagnoski finding out that he worked for them. Even as the key to his freedom was closer than ever-indeed, she was sitting right next to him, oblivious to his heavy thoughts-he knew he was sinking deeper and deeper into his own mess.

A soft, sharp intake of breath drew Eugene's attention back to Rapunzel. She was staring out of the automobile, her expression a myriad of emotions. He could tell she was frightened, but trying to hide it; looking beyond her, he could easily see why.

They'd left Midtown behind and come into the heart of Harlem. The buildings here were just as shambled as the ones in Five Points, some worse. Broken windows and burnt-out tenements made the narrow streets seem even narrower. Though Rapunzel had become accustomed to the poor and derelict atmosphere of Eugene's neighborhood, Harlem was somehow different. Everything, and everyone, sagged with a sort of despair that she had never seen before. Articles of the paper, and her own mother's impassioned words against Harlem filled her mind.

Dark-skinned men and women looked out from doorways and alleys. Children, bundled up against the cold, called out to each other, kicking cans and bottles for want of real balls and toys. She shrank away from the suddenly alien landscape, but found Eugene's warm hand grasping her own.

Eugene knew that despite its proximity, Harlem was a world away from the Ansonia and the rest of the Upper West Side. The people who lived there would never step a foot inside Harlem in their lifetime. Rapunzel, and most girls from her neighborhood, had probably never seen a black man outside of a uniform. Something more than income and class kept the destitute of Harlem where they were; the color of their skin was enough to keep most out of Five Points, which was just as poor, but the Irish and Poles that lived there were too full of their own resentment to suffer alongside them.

The city, despite the culture and adventure, could be cruel. The Land of Opportunity all too often granted that promise to few.

He tried to smile, but had nothing to say that would explain it. Rapunzel squeezed his fingers as the Imperial turned down one street, then another, winding its way to their destination.

Neither Tambor nor Hook seemed bothered by their surroundings. They pulled the automobile into a slender alleyway beside a coffee house, the large letters on its awning naming it rather simply: _Moose's._

"Here we are," Tambor announced. A nod of encouragement from Eugene coaxed Rapunzel out of the car and onto the deserted street; she kept close even as he unloaded the box from the back of the Imperial. Hook snickered, but not unkindly.

"You'll like it here, doll."

_Moose's _was obviously closed, but Tambor lead them around to the rear. Keys jangled in the lock of the back door for an instant, Hook keeping look out. Rapunzel's suspicion grew, and she glanced back at Eugene, who was watching Tambor, the box balanced precariously on one sturdy shoulder. His worn, patched jacket hid the straightness of his back, but she could still feel the warmth left from his hands. Her own cheeks colored as she thought of her absolute trust; she knew he would not put her in danger.

The back door opened into a yawning blackness, but Tambor and Eugene stepped in with easy familiarity. Rapunzel followed, and Hook made up the caboose, closing the door behind them.

Tambor's voice reached out of the dark, "Watch the steps, they can be a little slippery."

No sooner had he said it than the ground seemed to drop right out from under Rapunzel's feet. Her heart sprung from her chest, fast on the heels of her frightened squeak, but she found a narrow step just a handful of inches where the floor was supposed to have been. Her arms reached out to feel the rough brick walls of the stairway, and as her eyes adjusted, she saw the faintest of lights glowing just beyond the landing far below.

The hiss and snarling of pipes greeted them as the party found the end of the stairs and slipped through another doorway. Beyond it was a basement, lit by the smallest of lamps. Empty shelves were host to innumerable cobwebs, though there was a distinct path through the dust on the floor. The trail led to a large chest that had been pushed onto its end. Tambor opened its top, revealing that the bottom of the chest had been cut out-as well as the wall behind it.

Rapunzel could not halt her curious gasp. Eugene chuckled, hunching down to follow Tambor through the secret passageway. Somewhere ahead, Rapunzel could hear the sound of rushing water.

"You might want to hold your breath, Blondie," she heard Eugene advise, his voice strangely nasal, but it was too late to keep her from slapping her hand over her mouth and resisting the urge to gag. It was an overwhelming stench of mildew, mixed in with other horrors that she didn't dare think about. Altogether, she thought it smelled like the worst possible shade of brown.

The source of the noise and the terrible smell were one and the same. The dug-out tunnel led to another, this one lined by archways, the center a deep cement trench of sewage flooding by. The floor was slick and gleaming in the light of simple lanterns left on the brick columns. Of all of the places Rapunzel had imagined going, the _sewers _of New York City had not been on her list.

Planks of wood that had been leaning against the walls were pushed over the trench, making a bridge that looked neither sturdy or reliable, though all four made it across unscathed. Tucked three archways down from the point of crossing was another door, hidden by refuse. A wave of stale air struck them as Tambor opened it, and Rapunzel stumbled inside.

This tunnel was better lit than those previous, and at a steep incline. "Nearly there," Hook told Rapunzel from the rear. When the ground leveled out, she could hear the sound of people talking, and the low hum of music. Tambor knocked on the broad door that made the end of the tunnel, light streaming out from the bottom.

An enormous black man answered them. "Evening, Moose," Tambor said with a tug on the brim of his hat.

Moose's face was one meant for scowling, his folds and wrinkles reaching all the way up to his bald crown. He loomed over Tambor and Hook alike, giving them each a nod in turn. Eugene he ignored entirely, much to the smaller man's discomfort. He took in Rapunzel with one jaundiced eye, his expression impassive.

Rapunzel's fear had vanished. Her voice was clear as she lent him a cheerful, "Hello," and Eugene released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He knew he should not have doubted Rapunzel, not after knowing she was unlike anyone he'd ever met before.

Moose let out a low laugh. "Welcome to The Duckling, sweets," he said, stepping aside to let the quartet pass.

The room beyond him was nothing short of magnificent; the high ceiling was crowded with yellow lights that gave no hint to the yards of concrete above them. Green curtains, polished wood, and photographs hid the rough brick remains of walls that had been demolished to connect the basements of the block that housed the blind tiger. Several heavy looking doors provided means of escape for patrons, no doubt leading to yet more cellars and tunnels. Mahogany and painted tables were populated by men and women of every shade, dressed in their best. At the far end, across an empty space of floor, a band played to the atmosphere from a raised dais. One giant of a man blew gently on a baritone horn, while another puffed more enthusiastically on a trumpet. Beside him, a trombone player leaned against a standing piano, keeping a lookout over an unmanned banjo. However, everyone's attention was on the young girl in front of them, her brown skin and green dress aglow in the spotlight as she sang.

"_My home's wherever I may be. Ain't no someone yearnin', wonderin' where I be; i'm gone, but no one's missin' me…_"

Rapunzel watched, awed by the girl's voice. She'd heard this song before, on the radio, but it was nothing, _nothing _compared to hearing it in person. She followed Eugene to the bar, where he presented his package to the lone tender, who bore a strong resemblance to the child on stage.

"_Ain't no light a-burnin' ev'ry night for me; I'm like a bird that's flyin' free…_"

"Hey, Elijah," Eugene grinned. For all the time he'd spent away from the Duckling, it felt good to be back among the Tagnoski's flock. "Brought a present for you."

"About time, Rider," the bartender answered in his own booming chortle. "Where've you been, son?" He cast a glance over Eugene's shoulder to Rapunzel, who was swaying with the sound of the music.

"_Like the birdies that sing in the trees, pleasin' to live, livin' to please…_"

"Here and there," Eugene answered glibly.

"The boys and I were taking bets. Vlad thought you'd finally end up in the Tombs. I figured you'd jumped one of those trains headed west, myself."

"Your absolute faith in me is, as always, very reassuring."

"_I'm just goin' along as I please, breezin' along with the breeze!_"

Eugene helped to pry off the top of the box, revealing brown-tinted glass bottles nestled in straw. Elijah's low rumble of satisfaction carried as he began to place them on the shelves behind the bar, joining a myriad of liquors and alcohols, a veritable rainbow of illegal booze that kept the Tagnoski in their precarious business.

Clapping filled the room as the girl on stage bowed, her performance over. Rapunzel applauded along with the rest, watching the young singer flounce up to the bar and give Eugene a playful shove.

"Where you been, Flynn, you old dog?" She wasn't much older than ten or twelve, with no obvious consternation about being the youngest person present. A headband with one bright white feather circled her bobbed black hair, flapping with her every moment. She reminded Rapunzel distinctly of a bird, flitting from place to place, never holding still for a moment. Still, she managed to catch the blonde off guard, turning her face abruptly in Rapunzel's direction and demanding, "Who are you?"

Eugene was quick to assist, drawing Rapunzel to his side with his arm around her shoulder. "Goldie, this is Elijah," he gestured to the barkeep, who saluted, "And Stella." Closer now, it was easy to tell that the two were father and daughter.

"My name is _Rapunzel_."

"Rapunzel?" Stella did not look impressed. "What kind of name is that?"

She did not get an answer, instead looking back as the sound of the piano filled the room. Hook had found his place on the stage, and despite his lack of fingers, made good on his earlier promise to Rapunzel-he could still play.

"The doctor's been asking about you," Elijah told Eugene quietly, bobbing his head toward one of the speakeasy's many booths.

Frowning slightly, Eugene nodded his thanks. Rapunzel fell into step beside him as he moved toward where he knew his quarry would be.

"Eugene, this is amazing," Rapunzel said softly, but he could easily hear her over the noise of the band. She looked around shyly, returning the greetings of the other patrons with hesitant smiles. As they wound in between tables, her hand slid down his forearm.

An accidental smirk crept over Eugene's lips. "Glad you think so, Blondie," he answered.

He stopped at one of the speakeasy's few booths, taking off his hat and nodding to the man who had watched them approach.

"Good to see you, Doc."

The doctor had the certain, controlled air expected of one in his profession, with a calm, unexceptional face behind his rectangular spectacles. His ice-colored eyes were quick and his voice assured, with an accent that barely hinted at his French origins.

"And here I thought they were pulling my leg when they said you'd be here, Rider."

"Why does everyone _always _say that?" Aggrieved, Eugene slid into the opposite bench, Rapunzel taking the space beside him, though he pulled himself out of her grasp.

"And who is this fine young lady?" The doctor directed his attention to Rapunzel, who thrust out her hand, eager to introduce herself properly.

"Rapunzel."

The doctor seemed to be a bit taken aback by her forwardness, adjusting his glasses before taking her hand in his own oversized grip with a gentle laugh.

"Doctor Edouard Arceneau," he offered in exchange. After a firm shake, he plucked up the squat tumbler at his elbow and gave her a short cheer. "I can already tell you're too good for him."

Rapunzel eyed the golden liquid in the glass suspiciously, but before she could ask what Arceneau had implied, Stella seized her attention.

The younger girl had plucked up the trailing ends of Rapunzel's hair. "Why's it so long?"

Rapunzel answered uneasily, unaccustomed to the scrutiny, "I don't know. It's just always been this way."

Behind her, the men continued talking. "Thirsty?" Arceneau asked.

"No, thanks," Eugene mumbled. "How've you been?"

"Occupied. You look stressed, son."

"Stressed?" Eugene put on his cap, then removed it again, running his hand through his hair. "Can't imagine why."

Arceneau glanced at Rapunzel. "Pretty women can do that to a man."

Eugene opened his mouth to object, but Stella filled air for him.

"Do you sing, Punzy?"

The nickname was as startling and unexpected as the question, and Rapunzel could not help but answer honestly. "Of course. I love music." She did not notice that she was still swaying to the sound of the band on stage, much like the rest of the speakeasy's occupants.

"That's great," Stella grinned wickedly, looking at Eugene with mischievous glint in her eyes. "Come on."

Before Eugene could stop them, Stella had a hold of Rapunzel, dragging her out of the booth and toward the stage. Arceneau raised a hand, keeping him in his seat.

"There's something I need to talk to you about, Rider," he said, voice low.

Eugene swallowed, not liking the sound of the other man's tone. "What is it?"

Arceneau would not get his chance. Stella had the band's attention, directing them primly.

"Give me a number seven, boys," she said, motioning for Rapunzel to stand in front. "Don't be nervous now. Okay?"

The brass players started up a familiar tune. She'd heard it before, on the radio, once or twice.

"Okay," was all she had to say to Stella, who nodded.

"Great."

The girl dove off the stage, abandoning Rapunzel to the spotlight. Looking out, the blonde could see all eyes on her, expectant as the music picked up the pace. Her confusion came to a harsh stop as she realized they wanted her to sing. She had never performed in front of _anyone _before, much less a room full of strangers. A strange, unknown fear started to creep along her limbs, fixing her in place.

Eugene was overcome as Stella reappeared at their booth.

"You're an awful person," he choked out, watching Rapunzel, shock-still as a deer in the headlights. There was no way Stella could have known that her victim had been a shut-in up until a few days before, but _he _knew Rapunzel wouldn't be cut out for such a sudden debut. It was a terrible idea bringing her here. It was a terrible idea bringing her _anywhere. _She was biting her lips and looking out across the room, from Elijah in the back, to the smoky denizens that chatted at the tables. Finally, just as Eugene was about to leap from his seat to rescue her from imminent humiliation, their eyes met, and her voice rang out, true and clear:

"_Gee, but it's tough to be broke, kid. It's not a joke, kid-it's a curse._"

Stella stifled her laughter as Eugene sank back into his seat, sighing in relief.

"_My luck is changing-it's gotten from simply rotten to something worse. Who knows someday I will win too, I'll begin to reach my prime_."

"She's not bad," said the younger girl. "I knew it. I've got an instinct about these things."

Eugene's hat had been tossed on the table and he ran his hands over his face.

"I'll kill you, Stella. I'll kill you."

"_Now that I see what our end is, all can spend is just my time_."

Even Arceneau snickered as Stella retorted, "What are you so worried about, Rider? It's not like it's _you _up on that stage. Hold your horses."

Eugene's scowl was difficult to keep up as he looked back to the stage. As the band fell enthusiastically into the interlude, it was easy to see that Rapunzel had found her comfort on the stage. Her audience was raptly attentive, their approval clear on their faces as she spread her arms for the chorus.

"_I can't give you anything but love, baby. That's the only thing I've plenty of, baby. Dream a while, scheme a while, you're sure to find happiness and, I guess, all those things you've always pined for_…"

He remembered her humming from earlier, when she'd been painfully close, but he'd never heard her sing. Not like she did now, full and throaty and soulful. Like she'd been _born _to sing.

She looked over the heads of her onlookers, searching. Arceneau was nodding appreciatively and Stella clapping along with the band. Beside them, Eugene looked dumbfounded. Rapunzel's voice caught as she stifled a smile at his expression.

"_Gee, it's great to see you looking swell, baby. Diamond bracelets Woolworth doesn't sell, baby. Till that lucky day you know darn well, baby, I can't give you anything but love_."

Applause flew as the band finished the last notes, Rapunzel giving something caught between a bow and a curtsey. Stella met her halfway between the booth and the stage, saying with a wink, "You might make me a good back up singer, Punzy."

Rapunzel giggled, coming to a stop at Eugene's table.

"Brilliant performance, my dear," Arceneau said. Eugene only nodded his agreement. He hadn't managed to completely erase the astonishment from his face.

"Thank you."

Behind her, Stella cajoled Elijah from behind the bar, with the encouragement of the speakeasy's patrons. Others were moving the tables, retreating with their drinks to the walls and booths.

"Come on, Pop," Stella was saying. "You know we need a banjo for the Black Bottom Stomp. They can stay thirsty for just a little while longer."

Rapunzel gasped excitedly. "I know that one," she said, reaching out for Eugene.

"Wait, I don't dance, Blondie-" he began, glancing at Arceneau, who frowned. The doctor clearly had something to say, but it could wait. Rapunzel did not take no for an answer, seizing his wrist and pulling him to the floor. Elijah's hesitation had been short lived, and already he and the band were cajoling a fast, raucous melody out across the floor.

Rapunzel had only ever danced with herself, and the radio had never bothered to teach her how. The people around her threw themselves into the jazz number enthusiastically, legs and arms moving this way and that in a caricature of her mother's old-fashioned style.

"You ain't never danced before?" Stella laughed. She had dragged Hook, rendered useless by a lack of piano in this particular piece, onto the floor. "It's easy!"

The petulant girl demanded that Hook help her "show these wet blankets how it's done." Rather than partner himself with a girl half his height, Hook instead volunteered to teach Rapunzel, while Stella took a hold of Eugene.

Rapunzel was elated to find that dancing came as easily to her as singing did. It was all in the music, she knew; all she had to do was let it wind her up, and her body knew how to do the rest.

Unfortunately, Eugene did not seem to have the same natural rhythm. He was all elbows and knees, much to Stella's chagrin.

"No, dummy! You've got to _move, _don't just stand there! And don't kick like you're having a fit! Are you _deaf…?_"

The other dancers were sure to give the pair a wide berth, but Rapunzel found herself caught up by one partner after another as the jazz continued. Each of them shared her joy of music; some offered their names, and asked her questions that she did not get the chance to answer before being swept off again. Everything her mother had ever said about speakeasies, and the people that frequented them, was suddenly meaningless. The brass filled her ears and the banjo's soft thrum made her blood surge. She did not want it to end.

Suddenly, she found her hand in Eugene's, his strong arm around her waist. Either Stella had allowed him to graduate her ad-hoc school of dancing, or she'd abandoned him to the floor. Rapunzel's already racing heart seemed to leap into her throat at his proximity, his warmth, and she was suddenly conscious of her own body, and everywhere that they touched.

"You're doing great, Blondie," he said, loud enough to be heard over the band.

She laughed, her hair wrapping around them both as they spun and slid. "I don't understand how anything this fun could ever be wrong!"

All she'd been taught had begun to disappear. She was no longer frightened of the people she'd only seen from twenty-five stories away, and even the subway was beginning to grow on her. The world held too much promise to be terrifying. And she could never be terrified as long as she was with Eugene.

Too soon, the song ended. A general outcry from the dancers was muted by a signal of surrender from Elijah.

"I'm too old to keep this up," he announced, setting the banjo aside. "Let me breath a while."

The good natured grumbling dissipated as people returned to their drinks. A motion near the wall caught Eugene's eye, and he glanced up to see Arceneau standing beside a door that lead to another tunnel, and eventually, outside. The doctor nodded before stepping through, and Eugene knew he was meant to follow.

"I'll be back," he said, finally releasing Rapunzel. She nodded, her face flush with exertion, freckles hardly present against the pink of her cheeks.

The cool air that met Eugene in the tunnel was a relief. He hadn't realized how much _work _dancing was. It seemed unreasonable that he would sweat while having a good time, though, somehow, it was worth it.

It was only a short way to a set of stairs that lead up to a pair of storm doors, releasing him to an alleyway behind a flower shop. Arceneau stood under the building's fire escape, taking shelter from the small pattering of rain that had begun.

They stood in silence for some time before Arceneau began, "She's a sweet girl."

"Ain't she?" Eugene agreed, hugging himself for warmth. He knew that Arceneau meant Rapunzel, but it was what he was getting at that made Eugene wary.

"I saw you talking to that Tatiascore man in the park. What have you gotten yourself into, son?"

Eugene stiffened, just for an instant, before answering easily, "I don't know what you're talking about, Doc."

Arceneau would have none of that. "Don't make the mistake your father did, Rider. The Tatiascore do not forgive."

The Frenchman had known Eugene's father when he was alive, and had brought him into the Tagnoski's fold. He had also been the one who found Eugene when he had arrived on America's shore, and told him what had happened.

However, the good doctor had not been quick enough to find him before the Tatiascore did.

Eugene shoved his hands into his pants' pockets, suddenly craving. His fingers first touched the folded paper, and then a cigarette. When he brought it to his lips, Arceneau had a lit match waiting.

"He was a good man," Arceneau continued. "But he made the mistake of turning his back on them. Don't tell me you've done the same thing, not after all these years. I know you've got a debt to pay, Rider, and you don't have to throw it all away now." His voice lowered, "You don't need to get the girl involved."

Eugene looked at him sharply. There was no way Arceneau could know who Rapunzel really was, but the way he'd said that last sentence had rubbed him the wrong way. "I'm not getting her involved with anything, Doc. I'm not a sucker."

Arceneau sighed, looking ten years older than he should in the wane light of the street. He made his way to the storm doors, one foot on the top step. "The rest still don't know you work for Tatiascore," he said, voice tired. "They want revenge for your father as badly as you do, but they'll never forgive you if they found out."

Eugene opened his mouth to say something, but Arceneau cut him off with a raised hand. "I won't tell them, son. You know I won't. Just don't take any wooden nickels."

Without letting Eugene reply, the doctor disappeared down the tunnel, leaving the younger man alone with his thoughts.

He knew Arceneau was right. What he was doing was painfully parallel to his own father's actions nearly nine years before. The elder Fitzherbert was supposed to come to America and find a place for his family, away from the ravages of war, in the land of milk and honey. What he'd managed to do was get caught between the mob and a hard place; attempting to sell out the Tatiascore to the authorities had been the last thing he'd ever done, and now his son was paying the price.

Eugene watched tendrils of smoke fade upward, scowling at the unfairness of it all. And, of course, there was Rapunzel.

She was supposed to be his way out of this mess. He couldn't tell Arceneau, of course; the doctor would probably not approve of such a plot.

In his mind's eye, he saw Rapunzel dancing, laughing, throwing herself among the Tagnoski's friends without hesitation. She had probably never done such a thing before in her life, and when it was through, when she went back to the Ansonia and her mother, would she be able to go out and do it again?

Certainly she would want to. Eugene almost thought he would; they hadn't had such a celebration in the Duckling for as long as he could remember. Even if he could not admit it to himself, he knew that everything had started to change.

The ashes from his cigarette tumbled from between his fingers. Dropping it, he ground the tobacco vindictively beneath his heel. His hand returned to his pocket, finding the paper he had meant to write his ransom letter on.

It was smooth beneath his fingertips, like a the promises he gave away, and never kept. The small bit of happiness he'd started to have had disappeared in the wake of Arceneau's sobering lecture. The meeting with Claude had been no coincidence. The Tatiascore were on his heels, and the sooner Rapunzel was gone, the better. She had her fun, and she did not deserve to be dragged into his problems.

He descended the steps and shut the storm doors firmly behind him, feeling very much like a man going to meet his last fate.

The music that greeted him as he reentered the Duckling was not as half as boisterous as before. Hook had returned to his piano, churning out a sorrowful melody that matched Eugene's new mood. Arceneau was long gone, so he made his way to the bar, where Elijah was busy serving his thirsty regulars. He sidled onto a stool and glared at nothing.

A shot of amber liquid appeared in front of him. Eugene looked up at Elijah, who was polishing a highball glass thoughtfully.

"I don't drink anymore," Eugene growled. Rapunzel was instantly at his elbow, clutching his arm and giggling.

"Let's _dance._"

"I'm not in the mood, Goldie," Eugene started, then paused. The redness across Rapunzel's cheeks and the glaze in her eyes was not from exercise. His brows came together and he turned back to Elijah, who shrugged.

Rapunzel made a soft coo of delight, reaching for the shot glass, but Eugene was quick to pull it away. "I think you've had enough," he said flatly. "How much did she drink, Elijah?"

"Just some of that whiskey you picked up for us." It was Hook who appeared, plucking the glass from Eugene's hand and tossing it back.

Rapunzel pouted as Eugene sat her on the next stool and told her sternly, "Don't drink that shit. Elijah, why'd you give her that coffin varnish?"

Elijah chuckled. "She wanted to try it. I can never say no to a pretty face."

Eugene groaned. It was obvious that Rapunzel had never had an ounce of hard liquor in her life, and moonshine was variable how strong it could be. On occasion, it could even be dangerous-but it was too late to help that now. She didn't seem to be suffering much, only grinning and swaying to the music.

Rapunzel still had a hold of his arm when Tambor stepped up to her other side. "Having fun yet, Rider?"

"Loads," Eugene said dryly. Everyone was having too much fun at his expense.

Tambor snickered. "Here," he tossed a pair of keys to Eugene, along with another small card. "Take 'er, poor girl's not fit for the train. Think you can manage another pick up tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I'm working anyway," Eugene said, tucking his gains into his pockets.

"Good. What do you feel about a trip to Niagara Falls on Tuesday?"

Rapunzel gasped, peeling herself away from Eugene to face Tambor. "Niagara Falls?"

The large thug nodded. "Just a little day trip. Got to meet some friends of our from across the border."

Eugene knew what he meant, even if it went over Rapunzel's head. A delivery of booze from whatever pals they had in Canada.

"Can we go, Eugene? _Please?_" Rapunzel's gaze was shining, and, of course, everyone was watching, so he could hardly refuse.

"Yes, yes, of course," he said hurriedly, unseating himself and gesturing for Rapunzel to do the same. "I think it's time to go, Blondie."

"Okay," she yawned obligingly, giving a lazy wave to the whole room. "'Bye, everyone."

The Tagnoski bid her several fond farewells, and Eugene did his best to ignore their knowing glances as he lead Rapunzel through the same tunnel he'd gone with Arceneau. As they climbed into the Imperial, he pulled out another cigarette, ignoring Rapunzel's frown and focusing on the wet road ahead.

* * *

It still wasn't very late by the time they'd returned to Five Points. Rapunzel was singing softly as Eugene closed the door to his room, hoping none of his neighbors had heard her giggling as they'd climbed up the stairs. He was pulling off his jacket and glancing out the window, checking on the Imperial that he'd parked in the back lot, when he felt Rapunzel grab his hands and place one at her waist.

"I hardly think this is a place for dancing," he admonished quietly, unable to keep the amusement from his voice.

She only hummed, resting her head against his chest sleepily as she moved them both in a slow circle. "I can't help it. I'm just happy."

Eugene cleared his throat. She would not be content for long, he knew. "That's good, Blondie."

"Eugene-"

Several things happened at once. Eugene's foot slipped on the corner of the blanket that hung off of his bed, making him stumble forward. Rapunzel, her balance already compromised by whiskey, could only squeak as she fell back. Eugene could not help but try to catch her, but in the small space of his apartment, there was little room for maneuvering. He turned to keep her from hitting his bed, but she refused to release him. He winced as his head struck the bare wall. Bed springs protested the sudden assault, but eventually he found himself atop the mattress, with Rapunzel half beside and half on him, giggling still.

"Well, I'm glad you enjoy my pain," he mumbled. Moonlight that had slipped from between the clouds now poured into the room, sliding across the floor and reflecting from Rapunzel's drowsy eyes. He was suddenly very aware of her delicate, curving frame, pressed against him. His arm was still around her waist, a hand at the small of her back, keeping her close and out of harm's way. Her leg was drawn up against his abdomen, her hand on his chest, lips slightly parted as she stared at him.

She shifted a little higher, hair falling across her face, and a shock passed through Eugene as he realized her intentions. She couldn't have idea what she was doing. She was too close, too warm, too _good_, and even as she drew nearer, he knew that they had to stop.

Still, half of him very much did not want to.

More than half, even. His entire was screaming to embrace what fortune had very well fallen in his lap. But Arceneau's words rang in his ears, warning him not to end up like his father-and, most importantly, to keep Rapunzel out of it.

It was only business. She was a precious commodity, merchandise. Working for the Tatiascore for so long had taught him many things, and one rule was very, very important:

_Never _touch the merchandise.

Only a brief space separated their mouths, and Rapunzel's eyelids fluttered. Eugene's free hand came up, pushing her hair behind her ear, and it took every ounce of his control to turn his face away.

"Go to sleep, Rapunzel."

Her anguish was tangible as she recoiled from his rejection. Her breath caught and he could see tears welling up in the corners of her eyes as she struggled with her confusion and the haze of whiskey. Eugene tried to extricate himself, but her grasp on his front would not budge. Even as she lay her head on his chest, he knew that he wouldn't be able to escape once she'd fallen asleep. He _wanted _what that moment had offered; he knew he did, or else pushing it away wouldn't have felt like tearing his own heart out.

It wasn't fair.

Rapunzel did not cry, but she did fall soundly asleep. Eugene half hoped that she would forget what had happened that night, like most folks did when they drank. He was impossibly uncomfortable, his neck straining against the ungiving wall, but his limbs were heavy with his own thoughts. They would keep him up for hours, and as Rapunzel dreamed, he could only wonder what he'd done to deserve being thrust into such a nightmare.

* * *

Lengthy Author's Note

And, at last, we see the story's titular song, I Can't Give You Anything But Love. I first heard it on Youtube; the version I have is played by Ben Selvin's Knickerbockers, and sung by Vaughn DeLeath. I love DeLeath's voice. The song itself was published in 1928, and performed by Lew Leslie's Blackbirds, though the words and melody may have been written back in 1926, which is the year this story takes place. Whatever the actual time of the song, I am permitting myself some discrepancies just because I love the song, and I am the author and I can do whatever I want. It's like my dad always says, "Never let the facts get in the way of a good story."

The song that Stella sings is called Breezin' Along with the Breeze, and I particularly like Josephine Baker's performance of it, which you can also find on Youtube. You should also look up the Black Bottom Stomp, first performed by Jelly Roll Morton's Red Hot Peppers in 1925, because it's a fun song, and if I knew how to dance to it, I would.

And wOaH hold the phone! All through _Crown _I called him Flynn, but under the good advice of my sister, I'll be calling him Eugene through the rest of the narrative of _Anything_. Hopefully it's a smooth transition, and there won't be any confusion. I still prefer to call him Flynn in my head, but for the story, I think this fits.

For a reference, WWI ended in 1918. In _Tangled_, since Flynn/Eugene is twenty-six (according to most of my sources, anyway) I'm saying that, in this fic, he was born in the year 1900. I don't like explaining things out of story, but I wasn't sure how to work it into the prose without being clumsy.


	8. Chapter Eight

Allow me a little bit of character analysis for a moment, here. I know I'm not the only one guilty of making Flynn/Eugene a more inverted, conflicted character than how he appears in the movie: he actually is a pretty lighthearted guy. The most you see of his inner turmoil is probably at the campfire, when he confesses to his less-than-privileged childhood. The images of him on his way to the noose are also pretty dark. Still, for most of _this _story, he's been a thoughtful, brooding type, because that is how I think he would behave in the circumstances he's in. Feedback on this Flynn/Eugene has been overwhelmingly positive, which only means that a lot of people see the same in him as I do; but I wonder how his creators might feel? In _Tangled_, he's a hero, for sure, and has a softer side behind his rogue's mask. I think it is his duality that makes him so compelling, and a great opposite to Rapunzel, who, for the most part, wears her mind and her heart on her sleeve. He is similar to my previous favorite Disney guy, Aladdin, relying on his street smarts to make his way in a hostile world. I hope that as _Anything _progresses and things develop, I'll be able to return to the charming, witty, yet sensitive Flynn/Eugene that I think is closer to his real personality. There's only so much anybody can stand of pensive, petulant protagonists, myself included.

* * *

Chapter Eight

Rapunzel was never going to drink again.

She repeated the mantra to herself as she yanked the bedclothes over her head, trying to keep out the morning light. Her temples felt as though they were being trampled by a rhinoceros, and a fuzzy, sickly sweet taste coated her mouth and tongue. It was _awful_.

Eugene, on the other hand, could not leave quickly enough, despite the few hours of sleep he'd managed shortly before dawn. He recognized the symptoms of Rapunzel's first hangover. It was obvious from the way she curled up in the blankets and flinched at every noise he made as he dressed. He did his best to be quiet, and as he turned to leave, he advised gently, "Drink some water, Goldie, and you'll be all right."

He dared to hope that she did not remember the later end of the night before, though the single-eyed glare he'd received as she awoke might have been proof to the contrary. Eugene did not let it bother him, not much. Nor did he think about how she'd been _this close _to kissing him; and he certainly did not think about how that might have felt, or how badly he had wanted to let her.

It would not have been right, he told himself with a nod as he peeked into the back lot, making sure the Imperial was parked right where he'd left it. He'd never been so eager to get to work, and he knew it was because he wanted to avoid the disappointed girl in his apartment.

Not that she had really anything to be disappointed about. Eugene blamed her almost-kiss on the whiskey. It made people do ridiculous things, after all. He just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It was the alcohol, and nothing more. He did not think about how she'd looked before the Doctor had put him into a foul mood. The way her eyes had shone and her cheeks flushed as she danced. And he was careful not to think about the way her voice had filled the room when she sang; or the way her words had sounded like a promise, or the way she'd looked at him, making it seem as if she was singing for him and him only.

Eugene almost ran into the fence that separated the docks from the sidewalk. The gates were still locked, and he still had time to kill before his supervisor arrived. Reaching into his pockets for a much needed cigarette, his fingers brushed the paper and pencil he'd absconded with in order to write his ransom note.

He should have done this long before, he realized, withdrawing them and pressing the paper to the fence for lack of any other surface. Before Rapunzel had dragged him hither and thither, before he'd gotten in it so deep with the Tatiascore. Invisible, looming figures seemed to closer than ever now, threatening them both, if he did not do something.

He was through with her. He was through with the Tatiascore _and _the Tagnoski. He was through with playing games.

"Rider!"

The bellow to his right nearly made Eugene jump out of his skin. He balled his hands into fists, crushing his half-scrawled note and nearly breaking his pencil in two as he whirled to face the speaker.

It was only Captain Tennenbaum, smoothing his mustache as he recovered from a yawn.

"Good morning, Rider," he repeated. "You're out quite early."

Eugene swallowed, forcing himself to calm down. "Don't have much else to do, Cap."

At his feet, Max growled low in his throat. Eugene glared.

"That's what I like to hear!" Roared the Captain, clapping a hand on Eugene's shoulder as he moved past. "A man of real dedication. Don't work yourself too hard, Rider!"

Eugene laughed softly, only nodding to the officer's back. He waited until the Captain and his dog had moved off down the block before smoothing the paper and steadying his writing hand. He paused a moment, reassembling his thoughts, before beginning to write.

* * *

Rapunzel missed her mother.

It had taken her a while to identify the strange feeling that had welled up inside of her the night before. An unidentifiable ache had arisen right after Eugene told her to go to sleep. Her thoughts muddled and hurt, she'd done as he'd said, slipping into the embrace of sluggish dreams.

Her headache had abated, thanks to Ms. Ward, who had brought her a warm broth from downstairs. She had not questioned Rapunzel about her ailment, instead fussing over her as if she had a chill. She was oddly maternal, unintentionally driving the girl even farther into her foreign loneliness. Grateful as she was, Rapunzel was glad when the woman finally left.

Her mind was in chaos, though she sat very still on the edge of Eugene's bed, braiding her hair with slow, deliberate movements. On the floor, shadows of clouds rolled eastward. As she worked, she paused, fingering the length of her locks. Perhaps it was only the poor light, but in the murky room, they seemed to be darker.

It was only her troubled mind playing tricks, she assured herself, tossing her finished braid over her shoulder. As she did, her head turned, and she allowed her gaze to travel over the picture-plastered wall beside the bed. She'd already memorized the articles Eugene had hung there; some old, some new, most were abhorrently gruesome tales of murder and mob work. It did little to improve her mood as she wondered why he would keep such macabre clippings. Here and there among them, though, were more cheering photographs, yellowed and grainy with age.

Rapunzel reached out to one in particular, carefully removing the pin that had it secured to the wall. Eugene's pictures were very much like staring out of her window, only instead of looking down the length of avenues, she was awarded a precious glimpse into his past.

The occupants of the photograph appeared to be in good humor, despite their meek surroundings. Two figures stood before a squat and modest cottage. Even with the picture's poor quality, she saw that the man had a somewhat squarer set of familiar jaws, dressed with a beard. Though they were cast in shadow, she knew that beneath those expressive brows would be a pair of honest eyes, identical to Eugene's.

The woman beside him bore little resemblance to her son, though there was the same sort of mischief in her small smile. She was as squat and as round as the house behind them, made entirely of comforting, motherly curves, her apron spread by hard working hands and cradling a load of dark, indistinguishable fruit. She looked like a sweet woman, someone Rapunzel would have liked very much to have met.

Her thoughts turned to her own mother, who was out there this very instant, no doubt wondering what her darling daughter was up to. Rapunzel wanted nothing more than to run her, to confess what she had done, and beg to know what was behind her tumultuous confusion, and why it had hurt so much to hear Eugene to tell her to sleep when she had wanted to do nothing of the sort.

Rapunzel got to her feet, color rising as she speculated on what it was she had wanted to do. She hardly knew. The whiskey had fogged her thoughts, freed her of her inhibitions. His face had been so close, his arms warm and strong; moving to kiss him, the way that the songs always went on about in their magical, telling way, seemed the right thing to do.

Eugene didn't seem to think so. Rapunzel did not like the humiliation and shame that had followed; she hated it. Before she knew what she was doing, she was pulling on her coat and dashing down the stairs, not bothering to lock the door behind her. She needed fresh air. Perhaps that would clear her head.

She passed by Miss Ward, who called after her, but Rapunzel could say nothing. Her eyes were affixed to the sidewalk, destination unclear. She strode northwards, fingering the green lizard clip in her pocket. It felt rough, and the paper money seemed cold and false.

Her entire life, her mother had answered her questions, had explained the things Rapunzel had read or seen and did not quite understand. But as the days with Eugene had passed, more of those answers her mother had given did not seem to be the whole truth. Even if she returned home, she knew it would never be the same. Now that she'd been outside, her mother surely couldn't expect her to stay in all day, every day, the same as before?

Rapunzel glanced up as she heard men's voices. A pair of strangers, talking to each other, walked toward her on the sidewalk. She dashed across the street to avoid crossing paths with them, though neither seemed to notice.

As soon as her foot set down on the opposite block, Rapunzel realized that she could not leave Eugene. Not yet. She could not go back on the deal they'd made, though now, confronted with it, she did not know if she could follow through.

She was no thief, and her mother would be astonished to hear that Rapunzel had even thought of pulling such a trick. Recalling the date, Rapunzel knew it was only the fifteenth, and that while it seemed longer, she'd been with Eugene for a scant four days. Eugene had not pressed the issue, but she knew that they had two weeks until the Diamond would make its debut. What she did not know, though, was whether or not she could bear to go back on her word.

He had made good on his end, even taking her out to the Duckling, which had been entirely unexpected. She'd been having the time of her life, and it would be unfair if she turned on him now. Even if he'd hurt her, turning her down the night before.

Still, he could not have done it on purpose.

His tone had been gentle, as well as the hand that had pushed her hair out of her face. He was a good man, she knew, hugging herself, though her coat kept out the worst of the cold. She felt naïve and foolish, realizing that she probably wasn't even the sort of girl that he liked.

Her mind turned to the women she'd seen on the way to Harlem. Fashionably dressed, worldly, laughing and fearless, their hair cropped short against their faces, they were everything that Rapunzel was not. She felt frumpy and foreign in her borrowed button-up blouse and skirt, skittering around windblown broadsheets and adverts that threatened to overcome her ankles.

Definitely not the sort of girl Eugene probably wanted around. But he didn't seem to have minded the night before, when they danced. He'd even looked like he'd been enjoying himself for the first time since she'd met him. He seemed to have a lot on his mind whenever she looked at him, but she never dared to ask. His confession of the night before, had been only a brief glimpse of his inner workings; and as much as she enjoyed it, she also hoped it had preoccupied him enough that he hadn't noticed her bit of mischief.

It would certainly distress her mother if she ever learned of Rapunzel's little trick with her magic. Why it was supposed to be a secret, the girl knew very well, making sure to give a gaggle of gossiping girls a wide berth as she passed them. And while Eugene did not seem to suspect that she'd been the one to mend his little scrape, she knew better than to do it again. It was dangerous if he discovered what she could do; flinching inwardly, she tried to imagine that he would do just as her mother had warned people would do if they learned of her gift. Would Eugene take advantage of what she could do? Or would he call her a freak of nature? Or worse?

Inhaling sharply at the unpleasantness, Rapunzel looked up, not recognizing the street corner she had stopped at. Staring back the way she had come, she did not know the streets or the houses that lined them. She had not been paying attention to the path of her ponderous journey, and hugged her coat closer, suddenly frightened.

"Hey, Blondie!"

The nickname Eugene had given her rang out across the deserted intersection, but Rapunzel could not see him, no matter how she looked around. It had not been his voice, either, and she began to walk warily northward. From the corner of her eye she saw the sunlight flash off of the hood of an automobile as it rounded the corner, and she instinctively quickened her pace.

"Blondie!" The shout came again, and she did not bother to look back before stretching her legs and taking off up the block. There was the screeching sound of tires rolling against the pavement, and as she reached the next corner, a wall of steel and glass appeared before her and the crosswalk.

Nearly crashing into the passenger side door, Rapunzel recognized the glistening Alfa Romeo that had cut her off. From the driver's seat, a hulking man with an eye patch surveyed her grumpily. Her surprise only doubled, and was joined by a mixture of delight and dismay as no one other than her mother stepped out onto the pavement.

"Rapunzel!"

The girl found herself swept up into a vicelike embrace, and returned it with hesitation that she was not expecting to feel.

"Mother!" She exclaimed, once she'd found her voice. "How did you find me?"

"I've been looking _everywhere _for you, darling! Are you all right? Did he hurt you?"

Rapunzel squirmed free, looking at her mother with mixed emotions. Gothel looked worn, but fine, as far as she could tell. Her hair had lost some of its luster, and lines had appeared in the pale skin around her eyes. Had she really been looking? She knew her mother was a busy woman, and her contrition warred with her melancholy and confusion. "What? No, mother. I'm fine…"

"Come on, Rapunzel, we're going home."

Gothel's strong hand was firm around Rapunzel's wrist, but as she felt herself being pulled toward the Romeo, the younger girl twisted free.

"Wait, mother! No!"

Her refusal surprised them both. Rapunzel realized she was not ready to go back. Not yet. Her mother's astonishment was summed up in a singular, "No?"

"No," Rapunzel repeated, taking a step back and gathering her thoughts. "I… I don't want to go with you. I like it out here."

"Out _here_?" Gothel took a step forward, and her wayward daughter retreated. Her dark brows came together in a stormy expression. "Are you hearing yourself, Rapunzel?"

Rapunzel swallowed and continued, "I've seen and learned so much, Mother." Her voice was emphatic as she gestured, _needing _her mother to know, to understand. "I've met so many different people, and they're all so wonderful. I've seen so many things that I've never seen before! It's not like anything you said it was. It isn't scary. I met this man-"

Gothel cut her off. "Yes! I know very well who you met! He's exactly the reason why we have to leave. _Now._"

The older woman had not been expecting this rebellious streak in the blonde girl, who's expression matched her own in determination and stubbornness. Again, she reached, and again, Rapunzel refused to follow. All around them, people were leaving their worn-down apartments and shops to find lunch, passing by their corner, not bothering to hide their stares. Of course, they would eventually recognize Gothel, and the story of the famed performer loitering in Five Points, making a scene, well, that certainly would not do.

"How did you…?" Rapunzel was asking, her eyes narrowed.

"That doesn't matter. Darling! You don't know the people that he works for! They are terrible, and they want nothing more than to hurt you-"

"That's not true!" Rapunzel interrupted. Her eyes were wide now. "I've met them, Mother. They're the most amazing people!"

This sent Gothel reeling. Rapunzel had _met _the family this Flynn Rider had worked for? Surely they could not be meaning the same Tatiascore; the Tatiascore whose boss she had sent to the hospital hardly a day or so before. The Tatiascore who ruled the New York underground (and some of the above) with a cruel, iron fist.

Rapunzel seemed to show no fear or remorse at this horrifying acquaintance. In fact, she seemed to _like _them.

"You… you _what_?"

The girl babbled on, excitement evident. "They took me to the Duckling, it was in Harlem, Mother, and they played music-real, _live _music, it's so different than the radio," she looked sheepish. "I even sang for them, a little."

"You _sang! _Rapunzel, you know I told you…" Panic made Gothel's thoughts rush about, her tongue tripping over itself. If the Tatiascore had a hold of Rapunzel, why was she here, safe and sound? Unless Scipio was plotting something unusually sinister from his hospital bed, her apparent adulation was entirely uncalled for.

"Yes, I know, Mother," Rapunzel reached out and grasped Gothel's forearm in the attempt to reassure. "But I don't think they noticed anything. I just wanted to make them happy, and I think it worked." She began to mumble, "Stella seemed to really enjoy it, and then I learned to dance, and everything was going so well…"

This Duckling that she had mentioned could only be a speakeasy of some kind. A den of opulence and sin and drink that the woman abhorred. Gothel seized Rapunzel's wrist once more. "This has gone on far enough!"

The sudden expression of rage on Gothel's face made Rapunzel's blood run cold. She had never seen her mother so angry, and for an instant, she did not look like her mother at all.

She tried to wrest herself free. "Mother! Let go!"

More people were passing and gaping, elbowing each other and muttering as they passed. Rapunzel's cheeks flared with anger and indignation. She was old enough to be looking after herself, and had been doing just fine before her mother arrived. The way she was being pulled and tugged around left a far worse taste than whiskey in her mouth.

"You don't understand, Rapunzel!"

"No, _you_ don't understand! Mother!" At last, jerking herself free, Rapunzel stumbled backwards, nearly crashing into the strangers that had stopped to watch their strange argument. Without saying anything more, she pushed her way past and started to run.

"Rapunzel!"

Gothel's cries echoed after her, but Rapunzel did not stop. Her feet pounded against the harsh concrete, and she did not know exactly why she was running, or where she was going. There was too much pressing in on all sides; first Eugene, then her Mother. What she thought she knew was turning to dust on the wind, tearing at her hair and clothes as she fought to escape the unseen.

* * *

Eugene was feeling very satisfied with himself as he lit up his first cigarette of the day. A thin sheen of sweat covered his face and arms, despite the cold; as his supervisor had promised, Monday on the wharf had proven to be hectic and heavy. It had kept his mind off of the events of the days past, but as he fingered the ransom note in his pocket, he was assured that those troubles would soon be over.

He even gave the Captain and his dog a grin as they walked past. Max growled, but Tennenbaum was no wiser, leading his canine companion around the corner. There, the officer was delighted to find several automobiles incorrectly parked and awaiting his tickets; he directed Max to await him beside one of the fences that lined the docks, lashing his leash to one of the posts.

Max obeyed, but not without a small amount of frustration. His collar itched, and the leash he was forced to wear weighed heavily on his spirit. He was a good dog! He didn't need it; he knew his training inside and out, even if his pet did not seem to understand.

His nose waffled as he watched that Rider character moving. He whimpered and whined, earning a sharp, "Hush!" from the Captain.

Unable to take it any longer, the police dog pulled against his restraints. He did not really expect the fence post to yield much, but there was a hope. The Captain moved farther away, scribbling enthusiastically, apparently ignorant to the true crime that was afoot. Max had learned long before that if he wanted something done right, he had to do it himself.

He gave another fierce tug. His collar tightened, and he gave a short yelp. Biting and gnawing at the leash did little to help, but his sharp senses heard the leather strain as he pulled. Ears laying flat against his skull, Max backed up, refusing to give up, not when duty called.

The leash and the fence both protested his escape. The Captain was around the corner and out of sight, but it would not be long before he returned. Max snarled, his paws hunting for purchase against the cold sidewalk. Suddenly, he was tumbling ass over appetite as the leash snapped in two, his momentum sending him rolling into the street.

He allowed himself only a short yip of victory before putting his nose to the ground, determined to find Rider, and get to the bottom of his tomfoolery once and for all.

* * *

Whistling a merry tune, Eugene put some distance between himself and his fellow lunch-break smokers, intent on finding a post office where he might find an envelope and send off his letter all the sooner. Why spend more time on such an unsavory task than he had to? Not even the flash of Rapunzel's cheery face in his mind would dissuade him as he crossed the street, ignorant of a large shadow that was fast on his heels.

Not until he heard the rumbling call, "Rider!"

He froze, but only for a moment. He knew that voice. It had shouted at him with disparaging frustration often enough over the last several years. Thinking quickly, his gaze traveling along the block, he realized the street was nearly deserted. The Stabbington was looming upon him, his quick strides following Eugene, a deprecating smirk on his long face. Even from a distance, Eugene could see that it stretched the aged scar on his jaw almost grotesquely.

Eugene plastered an easy smile on his face, turning on his ankle to face his pursuer, the picture of a smooth con man.

"Ron! There you are! I've been so worried-_oof!_"

A ham-sized fist thudded into his stomach, dropping his cigarette from his lips and forcing the air from his lungs. The elder Stabbington brother held him upright as Eugene stumbled, sucking in his breath.

"That's for running out on us, Rider," Ron snarled, pushing Eugene into an alleyway. "Where's the girl?"

It took Eugene a moment to find his voice, forcing his legs to steady as he leaned against a wall. "I don't know what you're talking about," he grunted.

Ron gave him a rough shake. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. You ditched us with that Morse dame. And her mama is mighty sore."

Before Eugene could react, another blow ran across his jaw; a ferocious left hook that sent stars into his vision.

He refused to be fazed. He kept glancing out of the alleyway, waiting for the younger brother to appear. The Stabbingtons only ever traveled in pairs, after all. Claude, too, might not be far.

Rolling his tongue around in his mouth, Eugene was relieved to find that the punch had not knocked any of his teeth loose. He let his lips twist up in a lopsided grin.

"Look, I don't know what you mean. But you can tell Skippy," he winced as the Stabbington's grip tightened on his shoulder. "You can tell Skippy I'm done with his shit. I'm done with all of you."

Ron's leer, half cast in shadow, was nearly devilish. "Tell him yourself, Rider. We don't work for Scipio anymore."

Eugene stopped short. "What?"

No one just _stopped _working for the Tatiascore. That was precisely the reason he'd been on edge for the last few days. But here was Ron-and somewhere, presumably, his brother-who did not appear to fear their former boss's retribution.

"That's what I said," Ron snapped, picking up the smaller man by his front and slamming his back into the wall. Neither seemed to notice the flutter of paper escaping from Eugene's pocket as the thug did what he did best. "We want the girl, Rider. Where is she?"

Eugene could not answer. What had happened to Scipio? Was he dead? Arrested? It would be a feat in itself to take on the Stabbingtons. They would not work for just anyone. Whoever this new player was, Eugene had to find out, and find out fast. And why would anyone else want Rapunzel for themselves?

She was in trouble. The Stabbingtons did not know where Eugene lived, but they knew where he worked, and Five Points, while dangerous, was not large. All thoughts of his ransom was forgotten, replaced by a spine-chilling fear. They could follow him-Ron had just proven that. Eugene needed to find her, and they needed to _go_.

He scrabbled at the hands that pinned him to the wall. "Who?" He choked, but Ron only sneered.

"Doesn't matter, Rider. If you don't play nice, we'll just have to find her on our own."

Cursing under his breath, Eugene jerked his knee up and into the other's sternum, catching the Stabbington by surprise. Meaty fists released him, and he hit the ground running.

Eugene did not look back, the cold November air slicing down his throat as he streaked north. Ron's tone had made it clear that whoever they worked for did not have Rapunzel's well being in mind. Junior's absence could only mean that the younger brother was elsewhere, probably somewhere else in Five Points, hunting for their blonde quarry. Eugene leapt over garbage and homeless vagrants, praying that he would reach her first.

Ron, meanwhile, picked himself up from the alleyway and swore. He must have been losing his touch; usually, all it took to get Rider to cooperate was a quelling look and a threat from the boss. Of course, he did not work for Scipio anymore. No, he worked for the kooky old lady that had reduced the Sicilian to a screaming, bloody mess, and somehow, he was more afraid of failure now than he ever was with the Tatiascore.

Perhaps his brother and their new head were having better luck finding the Morse girl, but even then he knew Rider was not a fool. Five Points was an easy neighborhood to get lost in, and he would keep his new trophy girl safe from prying eyes.

Ron didn't care why Rider did what he did; he was only making life difficult, and that was motivation enough to want to bring an end to this ridiculous chase. As he moved to the mouth of the alley, the Stabbington felt the crunch of paper beneath one shining Oxford heel.

A piece of paper clung to the bottom of his shoe. Grimacing, he peeled it off, and was about to toss it aside, when the rough scrawl on it caught his eye.

He read it once, and then again, his scowl slowly working itself back into a smirk. He tucked the paper into his breast pocket and brushed off the grime of Five Points, stepping back into the sun and turning back the way he had come.

* * *

Eugene felt as though his legs were on fire by the time he reached Mulberry Street. He had never felt more relieved to see his tenement; his mind had somehow reasoned that the structure would have been burnt down, or ransacked, or similarly accosted by the Stabbingtons or the Tatiascore or whoever else his imagination could conjure. His relief was short lived, however; when he reached his floor, he found his door open, and his miniscule apartment empty.

Not a thing was out of place. Even his bed had been made. Checking the closet, he discovered Rapunzel's coat gone. He threw himself back down the stairs, nearly crashing into Ms. Ward as she stepped inside, hefting a sturdy broom.

"Missus Ward!" He demanded, seizing her by her shoulders, his expression wild. He'd lost his cap in the mad dash home. "Where is Rapunzel? Where did they take her?"

His landlady looked confused and alarmed by his ferocity. "Mister Rider! Please! No one took your cousin anywhere!" She pushed him off. "She went out some hours ago, the poor girl was not feeling well at all. I expect you would take better care of your kin!"

Eugene did not hear her admonishment. The good news was, nobody had come to snatch Rapunzel out of his apartment; the bad news, however, was that she was out, wandering through downtown, on her own, which meant much worse things than the Stabbingtons might find her.

He was back out the door and racing to the back of the building. He threw himself behind the wheel of the Imperial, barely taking a moment to appreciate that it was still there at all. He was pulling out onto the street in an instant, his eyes hunting for a familiar blonde braid before it was too late.

* * *

Rapunzel had finally come to a stop. She did not know how long she had been running, only that her feet ached and her lungs were screaming. She pressed herself to the side of one building, trying to catch her breath.

She had left her mother behind, and was still uncertain as to what had propelled her so far, so fast. But as she looked up to the avenue before her, comprehensive thoughts escaped her grasp, and she was confounded by the building she now faced.

The wide complex cast a dominating shadow over the road. The block was walled off, the bricks matching the construction of the two buildings that made up the legendary jail of southern Manhattan. Their design was austere and strict, like some magnate's home from a world away and a century ago. It suited their purpose as the holding place for New York's infamous; or, at least, the ones that did not escape. Though it no longer resembled the severe mausoleums of Egypt for which the original building had been named, The Tombs lorded over the lawless reaches of Five Points and the slums, at once a symbol of order as well as oppression.

Rapunzel forced herself to keep breathing as she walked slowly down the sidewalk, unable to tear her eyes away from the commanding structures. Straddling a wide street, the two buildings of The Tombs were connected by a covered bridge; Rapunzel knew from the papers that it was called, colloquially, The Bridge of Sighs. Despite the romantic sound of it, she knew the nickname was taken from a structure of similar nature, in Venice.

Her distress from before had disappeared in the wake of a morbid fascination. The newpapers were as often filled with tales of escapes as they were with tales of suicides within The Tomb's walls. She wanted to run headlong in the opposite direction, yet she was as lost as ever, and the day was waning quickly. She did not want to be anywhere near The Tombs when darkness fell, and winter had a cruel way of hurrying the afternoon and evening together. The people pressing past were darkly dressed, their faces obscured by scarves and hats and high collars. She was reminded once again of the subway, surrounded on all sides by strangers, her ears ringing with her mother's warnings. Maybe she should have gone home. She was lost now, and at the mercy of the elements; she was a fool, thinking she would be able to endure the city on her own-

"Blondie!"

Rapunzel screamed before she could stop herself, feeling herself leap from her skin, and even a few years fall off the end of her life. Her first instinct was to bolt, but not before she glanced over her shoulder, half afraid of who would be calling out to her this time.

It was Eugene.

The Imperial was half up on the curb, idling as he threw himself out of the automobile. Immediately, her anguish of the night before was forgotten, and she flung herself into his chest. He was sweaty and red with exertion and panic.

"Blondie, where did you-_why _did you…" He peeled her off and demanded gruffly, "Are you all right?"

Rapunzel struggled to find an answer. How was she? She was upset, and still a little angry, and no small part frightened. Her mind returned to the encounter with her mother, what she'd said of Eugene, and of his friends. Some small part of her feared that she shouldn't have said anything at all, and she couldn't have him think she'd ratted him out.

She could not tell him.

"I… I'm fine," she mumbled.

Eugene brushed a stray strand of hair out of Rapunzel's face. Perhaps it was the shadows, but it seemed darker than before. Her braid was messy, and her clothes awry, as if she'd been running. That was a funny thought, that she was racing about the same time he had.

"Good," he said with genuine relief. "Good. Look, we've got to go."

Rapunzel was suddenly belligerent. "Why?"

"Because we have to, Blondie."

She squirmed away from him. "That's not a good enough reason. Maybe… Maybe I don't want to go with you."

That gave him pause.

"You don't?"

"Maybe." She could not possibly still be upset about the night before. It had been nothing, hadn't it? Just a little too much whiskey on her part.

"It's not safe here," he said urgently, taking her hand and moving toward the Imperial. For all her words, she did not resist, and joined him in the front seat. It took a bit of coaxing to urge the automobile back off of the curb, and once he was back on the street, he shoved his hand in his pocket. He _really _needed a smoke.

He found his cigarettes, much to Rapunzel's disgust, but that didn't matter. What he did not find, however, was cause enough to worry. She eyed him warily has he patted down his pockets, even running his hands over the seats, but to no avail. The ransom letter was gone.

Eugene thought himself a very enduring fellow, but that was the very last straw. His entire body sagged, and he slumped forward, his forehead striking the steering wheel in an expression of defeat.

"Eugene?"

Rapunzel's voice was full of concern, but he could not bring himself to appreciate it. He was done with it now; he had given it his best shot. He was as good as homeless, and this girl, _Rapunzel_, had brought on more trouble than it was worth. Perhaps, if he gave himself over to the Tatiascore, they would make his death quick. Or he could get right back out of the car and offer himself up at The Tomb's front gates. Escaping Manhattan did not seem like much of a possibility, since he was broke, and had nowhere else to go.

He felt Rapunzel watching him as he straightened, resigned to his fate. He eased the car forward, though there was little traffic to avoid.

"I'm taking you home."

Rapunzel looked startled, and even a little offended. "What?"

The girl had gotten what she wanted, but as so often happened in his life, Eugene would come away from this deal empty handed. All for the better, he supposed. If he was going to the gallows, she did not deserve to go down with him.

"I'm taking you home," Eugene repeated.

Rapunzel gaped. She hadn't even helped him steal the Diamond yet; it was as if he'd forgotten about it entirely.

"W-w-why?" She stammered, too shocked to manage more than one syllable.

"Because," Eugene was saying slowly, turning right onto a smaller street. "It's dangerous out here. It's no place for someone like you."

Anger was becoming a close friend of Rapunzel's, it seemed. "You sound just like my mother," she said. "She's always saying that."

"Yeah, well, your mother is right. You should have just stayed home."

"You can't do that! We made a _deal._" She hadn't forgotten Tambor's trip to Niagara Falls, either.

"I'm letting you out of the deal, okay?"

"But you _can't_ just-"

Something white streaked across the road. Eugene's head had been turned to retort, but the flash at the corner of his eye had driven his foot into the brake, and his hands gave the wheel a harsh twist to the right. He was not quick enough, and he felt a solid _thump _rattle the Imperial's halted frame.

"Just _perfect_."

Rapunzel's hands were up over her mouth. "What was that?"

"I don't know," Eugene moaned. If he'd managed to dent the Chrysler, he wouldn't have to worry about Scipio, because Tambor and Hook would skin him alive. The street was void of other cars, and before he could stop her, Rapunzel jumped from the car.

He could hear her gasp of dismay and sorrow. "Eugene! He's hurt!"

_He. _Had he hit someone?

"Strike me down," Eugene mumbled to himself, easing the driver's side door open and coming to the front. He added a more audible, "Please," as soon as he set eyes on just who it was they'd collided with.

There was no mistaking the snow-colored fur beneath a layer of recently acquired dirt and grease. Rapunzel was busily brushing off the worst of the muck, her face contorted in horror.

"We have to do something!"

Eugene did not want to. He didn't care just _how _Max had wound up here, splayed in front of his bumper; it was only the icing on a continuously spiraling day. But Rapunzel already had her arms wrapped around the large dog's torso, trying to pick him up.

"Blondie, what are you doing?"

"We have to help him!" Rapunzel repeated. "You hit him!"

Running his hands over his face, Eugene struggled. He should leave the dog. He should leave them both and just drive himself off of a pier.

"Okay, Blondie. Just… here, let me."

Max was hefty, and thankfully, unconscious. Rapunzel followed him to the backseat, cradling the dog's head in her lap.

"He doesn't have a collar," she said softly, fingers running over the fur of his throat, which was still matted down with the impression of where one had been.

"His name is Max," Eugene muttered, finding himself in the driver's seat once again. He glanced in the rear view mirror, watching Rapunzel stroke the dog, crooning apologies under her breath.

Rapunzel didn't ask how he knew the dog's name, but he would not have answered. He didn't know how to help the dog. He didn't know any veterinarians, and doubted that he could very much afford one even if he did.

This problem, though it seemed impossibly compounded upon all of the rest, was tangible, immediate, and the simplest to solve. He let the sound of Rapunzel's voice clear his head, just as it had at the Duckling, when she'd sang. Eugene sighed and straightened the Imperial back onto its course, heading for the reaches of Midtown.

* * *

"You do realize, young miss, I am a _human_ doctor, not a dog one."

Arceneau's surprise at their arrival on his doorstep had not been entirely uncalled for, and not at all that long lived. No sooner had Eugene pulled up at the curb than had Rapunzel tried to drag the still-unconscious Max up to the Doctor's apartment.

It had taken little pleading on her part to allow them inside. Arceneau's apartment was not large, but it was the typical size of one of his career and neighborhood. Max was now splayed out on the couch, Rapunzel beside him, watching the good Doctor, expression hopeful.

"I know," she conceded apologetically. "But can't you do something?"

Arceneau glanced at Eugene, whose mood had improved little during the drive. Chuckling quietly at something only he found amusing, the Doctor obliged.

"I will certainly try, my dear."

Rapunzel's face split in a wide smile of relief. She looked up at Eugene, and he felt as though she'd forgiven him his sourness and his mistakes, at least for that brief moment.

He quickly excused himself to the kitchen.

The yellow light reflected from the Doctor's well-polished countertops, making the room seem smaller than it was. Whitewashed cabinets betrayed nothing of their contents, but Eugene was too occupied with his own person to bother wondering. Another round of pocket searching only confirmed that the ransom note he'd written was long gone, no doubt lost in his race home.

Of course, that was no longer home. On top of that, he was also out of a job; his supervisor had no tolerance for truancy. He ran a hand through his hair and paced, ignoring the murmur of voices and the crackling of Arceneau's radio.

It was not much later that the Doctor appeared in the doorway between his sitting room and his kitchen. He was using a towel to wipe mud off of his hands, and looked amused. A soft bark sounded from somewhere behind him, and he announced, somewhat unnecessarily, "Good news. The dog is going to be fine."

"Great."

Arceneau seemed puzzled that Eugene was not more impressed. "Just a bit bruised, and dirty. You must not have been going very fast when you struck him."

Eugene shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "I wasn't… I was a little preoccupied."

Bemusement colored the Doctor's face. "Mind if I have a look at the car?"

The younger man obliged. As they moved to the front door, he was pleased to see Rapunzel laughing, scratching Max under his chin and praising him for being such a "good dog." Eugene could attest to the contrary, but did not, instead following Arceneau back out onto the street.

The Doctor examined the Imperial sternly, nudging the sizeable dent in the side of the car. "I'm afraid you've been had, son."

Eugene had been looking up and down the street nervously. "What?" He asked, attention returning to Arceneau.

Pointing, the Doctor explained, "The dent here, Rider. It was not you who hit the dog, my boy, but rather, the dog ran into you."

Eugene was about to laugh it off. That would be _ridiculous_. But he knew. He _knew _Max was an unnaturally smart dog, and had a vendetta against him since the beginning. His mild resignation quickly turned into fury.

"That damn mutt!" He shouted. "He did this on purpose. I'll kill him. I'll wring his neck, I'll-"

Arceneau was chortling, putting a hand on Eugene's shoulder to quiet him. "I can't help but think the young lady would take a great exception to that, Rider."

Rapunzel's relief replayed itself in Eugene's mind. She _was _happy to see the dog was all right, even if Eugene wanted to run him over again. Groaning, Eugene shoved his fists into his pockets.

The Doctor paused, heavy brows coming together at the sight of Eugene's troubled look.

"Is everything all right, son?"

Eugene inhaled the bitterly cold evening. The sky had darkened to a velvety hue, and he had no idea what time it was. He was hungry enough that he no longer felt it, and no doubt Rapunzel was the same.

"No, Doc. Everything is going to shit."

Eugene told him quietly of the Stabbingtons, and how they no longer seemed to work for the Tatiascore, but he did not mention his own failed plot to ransom Rapunzel. That would turn Arceneau, and the rest of the Tagnoski, against him in an instant. The Doctor's own face became clouded as he spoke.

"Scipio Tatiascore was admitted to Mount Sinai Hospital yesterday," he said slowly. "Under an alias, of course. He'd been shot."

Eugene balked. They'd been headed back up the steps to Arceneau's apartment, but he was now frozen, one foot raised. "How do you know that?"

Arceneau's mouth twisted. "I _work _there, son. I am a doctor, after all."

Eugene didn't hear him. That would explain why the Stabbingtons no longer worked for him. Whoever they worked for now had been gutsy enough to shoot the biggest crime boss in the city. Somehow, that was not reassuring.

"What am I going to do, Doc?" He said. "I can't go back to my little hole. I can't go back to work, and I've got…" He didn't say it, only gesturing up the stairs, where Rapunzel waited. Instead, he added, "I owe you for the dog."

Arceneau shook his head, leading him up the last few stairs. "Don't be ridiculous, Rider. I did it for the little lady."

Rapunzel was quieter when they reentered, and Eugene suddenly feared she'd heard them on the steps. She said nothing of it, though, instead brightening as Arceneau took his place in the center of the room.

"I am to understand that the two of you are in need of a place to stay tonight," he began. Rapunzel frowned, clearly unaware of such a thing. Eugene avoided her gaze as the Doctor continued, "I would happily offer my own abode, but there is a strict no pet policy."

Max grumbled, which made Rapunzel laugh.

"Rider, I advise that you should go find Tambor and Hook. You've been to their house, haven't you?"

Eugene nodded. "Brooklyn. It's been a while, but I know the way." He would need to return the Imperial while he was at it, and apologize. Something in him recoiled at the thought of invading on their hospitality. "I don't know if we can…"

"Nonsense. They're your family, they'll be happy to help you." Arceneau looked at him gravely. "And you will need all of the help you can get."

Swallowing, Eugene nodded once more. "Right. Thanks, Doc." He beckoned to Rapunzel. "We'd better get going."

Rapunzel flitted to the Doctor's side, planting a kiss on his cheek. "Thank you," she said, receiving a fatherly chuckle.

"Try to keep him in line, my dear."

Max's paws padded after Rapunzel as she followed Eugene down the stairs and into the night. He moved to the Imperial's passenger door, opening it, and looked back to see Rapunzel had not moved from the bottom of the stoop.

"Blondie?"

Her mouth was set in a determined line.

"I'm not going back to Mother," she said firmly.

Eugene stifled another groan. "Please, Blondie, you have to-"

"You _promised,_" she added. "And so did I. And when I make a promise, I never, _ever _break that promise."

Eugene's grip tightened on the door handle.

"_Ever_."

Sighing, the man looked to the dog, who had seated himself at Rapunzel's feet. He regarded Eugene with a mixture of contempt and amusement, if that was at all possible for an animal. His white coat was perfectly cleaned, and his tail thumped against the concrete steps in a constant rhythm. Eugene felt sticky and exhausted. He wanted this day, and everything that had come with it, to be over.

It was clear that Rapunzel would not move until she had her way. Briefly, he entertained the idea of leaving her there, but instead gestured for her to get in.

"Fine."

She was quick to bound off the steps then, settling into the seat, Max jumping on top of her-though he was far to large to be any sort of lap dog. Eugene shut the door and came around to the driver's side.

They could settle this tomorrow, he reasoned. Only tomorrow he was supposed to go to the Falls with Tambor and Hook, and Rapunzel was coming with them.

He pulled out, onto the street, ignoring the happy sounds of the dog and girl beside him, and concentrated on driving.

* * *

The smell of hot food rolled from the front door of the sturdy Brooklyn brownstone, nearly knocking both of them over as Tambor peered out onto the stoop.

"Rider and the little lady! What are you doing here?"

He ushered them inside, trying to avoid stepping on their toes. The front hall was a bit cramped, and he urged them into the sitting room directly beyond. He was still wearing his tie and vest, meaning he had not been home for long; taking both of their coats, he announced Rapunzel and Eugene's arrival. From the a doorway on the other side of the room came the booming voice of Hook, "I guess that means we'll have to actually use the dining room tonight."

Rapunzel was almost overcome by the sights and smells that made up the bachelor's home. Unlike the small mess that had been Eugene's apartment and the Spartan air of the Doctor's, this house looked thoroughly lived in. The sitting room was crowded with a few chairs and paper-strewn tables, the walls flush with framed photographs and paintings. A curious armchair had been set aside in one corner; made entirely of wood, it was carved into the likeness of a bear.

Tambor noticed Rapunzel's puzzled frown. "A gift from my cousin Gunther," he explained. "Mind going to give the old lout a hand, doll face? It's his turn to cook tonight and there's no doubt in my mind he'll burn everything."

Rapunzel grinned and reassured Tambor that she'd do her best, despite never touching a cooking utensil in her life. She'd read plenty of recipe books, however, and knowledge was almost as good as practice, wasn't it?

Max remained with Eugene, who spoke to Tambor in hushed, hurried tones.

"Norb, I need to lay low for a while."

The other man scowled and gestured for Eugene to explain. He obliged, but it was a struggle; he did not want to lie, but as with the Doctor, he could not deliver the whole truth. For the rest of the Tagnoski, it would need to be watered down even more.

"I'm in a bit of a tight spot, Norb. Some of the Tatiascore boys, they took an exception to me. Through no fault of my own, mind you…" Playing the card against the Tatiascore would guarantee a well of righteous anger from Tambor. The Tatiascore had done the Tagnoski many wrongs over the years, the worst of them being Eugene's own intimate loss. "And I can't go back to my house. At least," he sucked in a breath and glanced toward the source of the delicious aromas and the clattering of spoons. "Not with Goldie. It isn't safe for her."

He was playing dirty, and he knew it, guilt tugging at his throat as Tambor nodded with understanding. "Of course, Rider. I've got you. Don't worry, we won't let them lay a finger on the little lady."

Hook and Tambor had not been expecting company for dinner, and it had taken a bit of work to clear the dining room, and find another set of chairs. Rapunzel looked absolutely childlike, dwarfed by the carved bear she'd been consigned to, but she cared little. Eugene was quiet, but the two other men made the peppered the meal with their own seedy humor and riotous conversation. She'd hardly cleaned her plate (with the assistance of Max, who she'd snuck tidbits to under the table) before she could feel her eyelids drooping. The hour was hardly late, but she'd done quite a bit of walking.

Their hosts were more than hospitable. Eugene told her he had to return to Five Points, to see if he could retrieve some of their clothes, but he would be back. She surprised him with an embrace before following Hook to the upstairs hall.

Eugene hardly felt he deserved the hug, but it warmed him a little as he tried to explain the dent in the side of the Chrysler. Tambor took it better than he expected, but vowed he would never let Eugene drive her ever again.

The tenement was silent by the time they'd reached Five Points. He stuffed Rapunzel's borrowed clothes into the box Ms. Ward had provided them in, along with his own. After a moment, he also retrieved the girl's sketchbook, and plucked the photographs from the wall.

The room was a mess, and he left a note for Ms. Ward. He tried not to feel bad, knowing that the woman did not deserve his desertion. Tambor, too, seemed to lament the fact that he would no longer see her-though why he wanted to see her in the first place, Eugene would never know.

He felt his skin crawl as they left at last. He'd expected the Stabbingtons to assail them at any minute, but they did not appear. Nor were they followed, though Tambor took the most back-asswards route to Brooklyn that he could manage. Eugene felt as exhausted as Rapunzel had looked when he'd left; his limbs were like lead, and he wanted nothing more than to lay down and never get up. The house was silent when they returned.

"Spare bedroom is on the left," Tambor told him in a whisper, moving to the dining room to return the bear-chair to its rightful place. Eugene abandoned his box for the morning, trudging up the stairs and down the hall.

He pushed the door open, eager to lay his weary head to rest, but was halted on the threshold. It was the spare bedroom, of course, but the problem was that it was the _only _one. The wooden floor was bare, as were the walls. A chest of drawers squatted in a corner, topped by dusty books. Rapunzel already occupied the steel framed bed, looking quite comfortable beneath several blankets, Max curled up at her feet. Moonlight spilled in through the lone, untreated window.

Eugene sighed and shut the door, shambling down the steps. Tambor snickered from the sitting room.

"What's the problem, Rider? She have you in the doghouse?"

Eugene did not glorify the question with an answer, instead sinking into the small couch that resided between one short table and a potted plant.

"What time are we leaving tomorrow?" He grunted.

"Early. Better get your beauty sleep."

Tambor snickered all the way up the stairs, his weight making the house groan and shift as he went to his own room. Eugene cursed himself, and his luck, and everything he could think of before sleep finally silenced his thoughts.


	9. Chapter Nine

Since I can't thank every reviewer personally (the anonymous/unregistered folks) I'd like to take a moment to express my gratitude to everyone who takes time to leave some encouragement, and really just anybody who takes time to read this little adventure.

* * *

Chapter Nine

Gothel hadn't yet recovered from her daughter's disobedience when the brothers had finally brought her home to the Ansonia. She stayed quiet as they'd traversed through Five Points, trying to follow Rapunzel; when that had proven fruitless, she'd still been silent as they picked up the elder Stabbington and returned Uptown. Ron watched her through the doorway of the sitting room; she was waiting at the table, hands folded before her, eyes unseeing as she brooded.

Ron turned to face the door as he heard his brother's heavy steps; Junior was joining them after parking the car around the block. It had almost felt strange to be allowed up in the apartment their partner had broken into just a matter of days before. Gothel seemed confident in their position as her lackeys, just as they had been for Scipio, and smaller fish before him.

They had seen many come and go in the city's brutal pond.

With Junior's arrival, Gothel summoned them both to the table. The paper Ron had gotten from Flynn earlier in the day was laid flat between her elbows; she'd reread it several times, hoping to leech some clues of just who this man was, and what he wanted with Rapunzel.

The girl was no fool, but then, Gothel had hardly recognized her that afternoon. She'd been uncharacteristically stubborn-defiant, even. She'd never stood up to Gothel before, and now the woman was unsure of what to do.

This Flynn character obviously knew that Rapunzel had some worth, but Gothel would wager that he did not know precisely how much. He was riding on the fact that Rapunzel was simply Gothel's child; the ransoming of children of celebrities was an old practice, after all. There was little that hinted that he knew of Rapunzel's strange and fantastic ability, or else he would be seeking a much higher price, or would perhaps not be writing to sell her at all.

Gothel fingered a lock of her own wiry hair. It was coarser, streaked with grey. Even when her performances provided an opportunity to leech from unsuspecting audiences, she was feeling the absence of Rapunzel acutely, and knew it was only a matter of terrifying time before she would be unable to keep up her act of normalcy.

She looked up at the twins who regarded her cautiously. As they very well should have. Shooting Scipio had been an act of self-preservation, as had been many of other atrocious behaviors over the course of her lengthy lifetime.

"Boys," she began. "What is this Duckling that my daughter mentioned? A speakeasy of yours?"

Both of their noses wrinkled in disgust. Junior, the one who had accompanied her during the confrontation, explained, "The Duckling isn't one of ours, ma'am. We, that is, Skip, he never did moonshine."

"That's the Tagnoski's racket," Ron added. "Flynn's old man was one of theirs. He is, too."

Gothel's brows came together, puzzled.

Ron felt out of place, laying it out for the woman that was supposedly his new boss, but there was no way she could have known what went on in New York City's underground. "He had a debt, Morse. He was working it off for Skip. But when he ran…" The large man shrugged.

"He went back to those Polacks, just like his pops, trying to cover his own ass," Junior growled, more speculative than explanatory. "But they ain't nothing but small fry."

That was some relief for Gothel. At least Rapunzel was not associating with the Tatiascore, where she would be in even greater danger. She'd never even heard of the Tagnoski family before.

"Do either of you know where this Duckling is?"

The brothers exchanged glances, and Ron answered, "We can find out."

* * *

It was going to be a very long day.

Rapunzel felt the hours drag by, at odds with which the speed the Chrysler Imperial ate up the road, heading east. A forested landscape whizzed by; the monotony was occasionally disrupted by a cluster of farms or another automobile, but the girl had resigned herself to a dull and uneventful journey. She tried not to think about her encounter with her mother the day before, or what it mean about the days that would follow. She had not been ready to go home yet, but now she was not sure if she ever would be.

Hook and Tambor took up the front, content to be quiet as they took turns driving. To her right, Eugene dozed, immune to the bumps and curves that they rolled through. He hadn't said a word to her since that morning, when she'd come down to find the men already downing copious cups of coffee. A blue twilight had filled the brownstone, making it difficult to distinguish Rapunzel's wakefulness from her dreams. With Max at her side, she'd greeted Eugene with a modest "good morning", and had received an indecipherable mumble in return. The dog had settled down between them now, sleeping, and occasionally kicking Eugene as he dreamed. The man did not notice, barely stirring whenever they stopped to stretch and let Max take care of business.

When she asked, Hook had been kind enough to explain just why they were heading to the Falls.

"You see, Goldie, this whole Prohibition business makes it difficult for us to find a bit of booze." He grinned crookedly, overlarge teeth protruding from beneath his lips. "And the Tagnoski don't give anything but the best to their family. You see, we have a pal in Canada, and he can give us what we need."

They were strolling along the road beside a farmhouse and a dry, auburn field. A breeze ushered by, carrying their voices back to Tambor and Eugene, who stayed with the car.

Rapunzel frowned as she asked Hook, hugging her coat against the cold, "Why do you work so hard for the Duckling?"

She'd been rewarded with a low chuckle. "We take care of our people," Hook answered. "We like to see them happy, and _I _like having an audience when I play. It's a modest dream, doll face, but it's ours."

Something in what he'd said, and how said it, made her pause. As her feet stopped, the wind picked up, snatching at her hair and hat, throwing the latter high in the air and out of reach. She gasped, turning to watch it soar higher, blustering back the way they had come. Eugene shook himself out of his stupor, trying to seize it as it flew by, but was too late. Her hat was gone, lost over the field and out of sight.

Afternoon shifted to evening as they weaved into the glacier-carved hills that wrinkled upstate New York. Tambor and Hook, more awake than they had been when they'd left, had taken to telling stories. They mentioned other members of the Tagnoski-some she had met at the Duckling, and others that they assured she would eventually know. More than once, Eugene looked as if he wanted to say something, but never did. Rapunzel began to feel her eyelids droop and her thoughts turn unwillingly to home as the sun sat on the horizon like a ruby goose egg.

Signs posted beside the road declared that they were nearing the Falls and the small town that had sprung up on the American side. That was enough to force Rapunzel back into wakefulness, and even Eugene sat up, eager to reach their destination at last. Max seemed to echo his thoughts, climbing over Rapunzel's lap to shove his head out the window, nose twitching.

Townspeople went about their usual evening business, not taking any notice of yet another automobile full of tourists. The Falls themselves were not far from the town, and Rapunzel imagined she could already hear their roar, though in truth it was only the wind passing through the trees. She perched on the edge of her seat as they made their way up to the parking lot, already crowded by people who had spent their day at the natural wonder.

Stars winked in the west as they unloaded. They all breathed in, filling their lungs with the cold, fresh air that was so different from the city's usual haze.

"Off we go," Tambor said, leading them to the entrance of the park that held the Falls. A swath of grass was cut into a circle by a paved pathway. They moved against the human traffic, heading in as most people were leaving, headed to dinner or nights at the hotels the town offered.

Rapunzel could hear a low rumbling now, and while she knew what it was, she felt something else rise up in answer. A strange anticipation of what she would get to see. There was no way that photographs would be able to capture the Falls, and even if her mother never forgave her, she would have at least made it this far.

They strode past more stands of trees, the Falls still unseen. Darkness lingered, and as they encountered fewer people, Rapunzel drew herself instinctively closer to Eugene. He did not object as she attached herself to his forearm, even slowing down. Max was a bright shape between them and the pair of men ahead.

The trees suddenly gave way to open air. Where they stood lead to sheer, rocky cliffs, and rushing below them, black water capped with white foam raced on to disappear in a cloud of fog. The American Falls were only one of the three that made up Niagara; ahead of them, a bridge crossed over a small island and onto a second. Goat island, as it was called, would be where they were headed.

Rapunzel had never been afraid of heights; dangling out of a window twenty-five stories above the ground had cured her of any acrophobia. But as they crossed, the water below seemed to move unnaturally fast. Cold and unfeeling, it would not hesitate to sweep any of them away.

Eugene sensed her discomfort, finally slipping a hand into Rapunzel's as they stepped onto Goat Island. All around them, trees that had been stripped of their leaves by the season seemed to be proof that the land was unfit for anything but the hoofed creatures for which it was named.

The quartet was silent until they reached the far side of the island. The larger and better known Horseshoe Falls was audible, off to their right, as Tambor and Hook paused at a fork in the footpath.

"We need to get to Three Sisters," Hook announced, jerking his thumb at the path that went left, away from the sound of the falls. "That's where we'll meet our guys."

"Ain't much more than a two man job," Tambor added, grinning as realization broke over Eugene's face. "Take the little lady to see the sights. We won't have long before they start closing it down. We'll signal you when we're ready to go; we'll need you two to distract the uniforms when we leave."

Eugene scowled, but already felt Rapunzel tugging him away, towards Prospect Point, where she'd have the best view. His neck ached from his night on the couch, and he hadn't quite slept off the crick during the ride. His whole body felt stiff, but he didn't complain. Licking his lips, he said his first sentence in hours.

"No need to rush, Blondie. The falls aren't going anywhere."

Rapunzel slowed, glancing back at him before looking away again. "I know, I'm just excited."

He smirked, marveling at her enthusiasm. It was present in everything she did, even the things she didn't like. He wondered how she could stand it. Her emotions were almost always plain on her face; it made it difficult to keep himself from feeling guilty about hiding his own thoughts away.

Max trotted ahead, his nose to the ground. Something caught his attention, forcing his head up and his ears forward. He darted into the trees that lined either side of the path, running back and forth in the wayward manner that dogs had. He reappeared in an instant, his jaws parted in a satisfied canine grin, bearing an ample stick between sharp teeth.

He circled the walking pair, growling. Eugene knew the mocking look in the dog's face, and reached out to yank the wood from his mouth.

No sooner had he claimed victory than he flung it off into the underbrush. Max barked and chased after it. It was comforting to see that despite the dog's strange intelligence, he still knew how to fetch.

"Eugene."

He hadn't forgotten that Rapunzel still had a hold of his other hand. When he looked, he saw that her face was pensive, almost frightened.

"Are you alright, Blondie?"

She nodded, inhaling. All around them, the air was filled with the dank smell of wet soil. She had to project in order to be heard over the sound of the Falls, which they were nearly upon. "Yesterday, you said we couldn't go back to your house, in Five Points."

Barely. She'd asked him why they were headed to Brooklyn shortly after leaving the Doctor's, and he'd muttered something about the necessity of it. She had known something was wrong, of course, but had no opportunity to question him until now.

"Why?"

Eugene looked ahead at the empty spaces between the trees. She was so open, and trusting, and honest; everything that he hadn't been up until now. He knew he had a choice. He could keep on with his usual plan, his usual self-sufficiency, despite all that he was up against. He could continue to lie.

And even as he assured himself that he could, he knew that he could bring himself to deceive her no more.

Still, he did not know how to say it, and he could not say everything. Knowing everything would make her hate him, and while he would not have minded a few days ago, he found the thought now terrified him.

"I'm in trouble, Blondie."

She said nothing, instead watching him as they walked, the same as she'd watched him talk about his mother. She was not judging him, or calling him into question. She was _listening._

"I'm in trouble with some bad folks. And I mean bad. They all want a piece of me, and, believe me, I've had it a long time coming." Her hand gave his a reassuring squeeze. Words tumbled out of his mouth, entirely true, but only halfway admitted to himself. "But I can't let them get at you."

Rapunzel stopped walking, feeling her face grow hot. Eugene had the last bit so quietly that she almost asked him to repeat it. Even then, she didn't think she wanted to hear it, as if it would turn out to just be a dream. Suddenly, her feelings, and the possibility of his, threatened to swamp them both.

Instead, she blinked, and moved her eyes to the trees. "Where's Max?"

Eugene let go of her to look back to where the dog had disappeared to. He could hear shuffling in the bushes; since no one else was about, it had to be the dog, still hunting for his godforsaken stick.

"I'll find him," Eugene said, eager to move away from his confession, and hope that perhaps she would just forget about it.

He slapped at low branches and wet leaves, following the sound of a canine's sharp whines. Max was not far from the path, but had somehow stumbled down into a slight ravine. The ledge was too high for him to jump, and he was reluctant to release his stick to bark for their attention.

"Damn dog," Eugene mumbled, lowering himself down to join him. It was tricky, but he managed to hoist the dog onto his shoulders, and from there, Max pulled himself from the ravine. It would probably be too much to ask for a hand, and so, gripping the rocky cliff face, Eugene hauled himself up. A sudden and sharp pain sliced across his palm, making him wince. Once he was on level ground, he found that one of the stones had bitten cleanly into his left hand, blood welling up from the cut.

Rapunzel was scratching behind one of Max's ears when Eugene returned to the path. Keeping his hand out of sight, he nodded, suggesting that they continue on. Rapunzel's eyes lost their momentary solemnity, brightening, and they were soon bearing the brunt of the waterfall's noise. A wide open space was separated from the emptiness by a simple railing, beckoning them forward with the promise of a beautiful sight.

They were not disappointed.

Water flung itself from between rocks and into the night sky, cascading and white with gravity to the churning maelstrom below. Horseshoe Falls curved away and back toward them, aptly named for the shape that they took, and the roar was very nearly deafening. The far side was only a dark and indistinguishable shape, but everything that stretched in front of them glistened with a patina of moonlight.

Rapunzel had quite forgotten to breath. She was no longer bothered by the cold, and even the noise had a sort of lulling spell to it. Beside her, she felt Eugene similarly awed, leaning against the railing for a moment before hissing and pulling back again.

Her brows went up in concern. Where his hand had been was now the black sheen of blood.

"Eugene!" She started, but he only drew his hand closer.

"It's nothing."

Rapunzel looked dubious, and then, very thoughtful. Eugene grimaced, trying to ignore the sting that traveled up his arm, and hoped that he hadn't accidentally touched anything exceptionally dirty.

The girl surprised him by guiding him away from the railing with peculiar force and toward one of the benches that lined the far side of the open space. She forced him to sit, her brows knit together as she held his wrist.

"Let me see," she ordered firmly, and he had no choice but to obey. What she hoped to glean from his little wound, he did not know, but she brushed flecks of dirt from his palm, cradling it in both of her own.

She was biting her lip, and he saw a familiar concentration pass over her face, though when he'd last seen it, he couldn't be sure.

"Eugene," she said quietly, looking up at him, her head still angled downward. Her voice was almost a plea. "Promise… Promise that you won't freak out."

Before he could answer her decidedly cryptic missive, Rapunzel opened her mouth and began to sing.

"_Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine._"

He'd heard this song before. She'd hummed it that night before they went to the Duckling. He thought it just some meaningless ditty, meant to amuse, nothing more. But as he looked down to their joined hands, he saw his laceration begin to glow. A yellow light slicked around the edges of the cut, seeming to knit the skin together in a golden net.

"_Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine_."

Eugene was losing his mind. It had been like his little slice from shaving; only he hadn't cut himself, had he? Rapunzel had hummed her little song and his supposed cut had been gone. He looked up from his hand to Rapunzel's face, to tell her that he was seeing things, and that she'd better clear off before he did something truly crazy, but her eyes were closed, her face framed by long locks of hair. And still, she sang.

"_Heal what has been hurt, change the fate's design. Save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine_…"

A warmth spread from his hand to his arm and shoulders, and he felt the tightness that had plagued his neck and back fade. His whole body seemed to loosen; the little pains that he had learned to ignore were now gone.

"_What once was mine_…"

As her voice trailed off, Rapunzel took a peek at Eugene through one slightly opened eye. He was staring at her like she'd set herself on fire. Indeed, the terror spreading through her nerves made it feel as though she had. His breath was short, and for a moment, she feared that she had done something terribly wrong, but she then realized that he was preparing himself to yell.

She flung herself forward, and in her desperation to retain the silence, she kissed him.

Or, rather, it was what Rapunzel thought was a kiss was. Her lips were chastely, almost comically, pressed to Eugene's own, and he was so startled by it that he almost forgot what he was going to yell about. They remained like that for an indeterminable amount of time; her arms thrown around his shoulders, and his hands stretched out awkwardly, uncertain of just what to do next. He was certain, however, that he very much liked where this was going, even though he knew he shouldn't.

At last, she released him. "I'm sorry," she said quickly, pulling at her hair anxiously. "I just couldn't… I know it's strange, and I'm sorry, but it isn't going to hurt you, and-"

Slowly, Eugene brought his uninjured hand up, pushing Rapunzel's hair out of her face. Time seemed to slow, and the world began to narrow until it was the two of them (and, to a lesser extent, Max, who looked on with interest) on the bench. Even the Falls sounded far away as his fingertips followed the curve of her cheek down to the back of her neck. The opposite side of her face was illuminated by the sky, one half pale and the other cast in shadow.

He knew very well that what he was doing was exactly what he'd talked himself out of not two nights before. His muscles seemed to be moving without his command, and his thoughts were romping in his brain without any particular order.

He was making a mistake; but nothing that felt as right as this could ever be wrong. Even as Rapunzel quieted, he knew that everything had changed. This was his fault now, and there was not going to be any going back. She was no longer just a girl, no longer his ticket to freedom, though, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that she never really had been.

It was obvious that Rapunzel had never kissed before in her life, and there was little to be learned from books on such a sensitive topic. Eugene moved gently, his hand guiding her head back and chin up as their lips touched. He felt Rapunzel inhale and her eyelids flutter, and he wanted nothing more than for that moment to never end.

But as all good things were wont to do, it did. No sooner had they both discovered that their lips fit perfectly together, they withdrew, Rapunzel's hand flying to her mouth, and Eugene pulling his own away. He could hardly believe what he'd done.

After several moments, he broke the silence first.

"Uh," he began eloquently, then looked away from Rapunzel's heated face to his hand. "Uh."

"I'm sorry," she repeated. She was back to wringing her hair again. "It's always been like this. I've always been able to do this, I mean. My mother showed me how."

She was very suddenly petrified. All of her mother's warnings against people who would take advantage of her gift now centered around Eugene. While her heart still thudded in her ears and she rolled on the ecstasy of that kiss, she could not fight that fear.

"That's, uh, that's unusual," Eugene managed. He flexed his fingers, but it was as it appeared. His hand was as good as new, along with the rest of him. In fact, he felt _stupendous. _A curious idea came to him. "I'm not going to get super strength, am I?"

Rapunzel was taken aback by the absurdity, and laughed. "No. No, I don't think so." She stilled her hands and let them fall into her lap. Her expression became nearly melancholy. "Mother always said that people would try to take it from me, or use me to get what they wanted. That's why…"

Realization struck Eugene like a cinderblock to the skull. "That's why you never left."

The girl nodded.

Everything had changed. Not Rapunzel, Eugene knew. Even with this revelation, she was still Rapunzel. But their kiss had turned everything else on its ear.

He stood. "We should probably go find those geezers."

She grinned, pulling herself up after him. "All right." Her unease disappeared as she beckoned for Max, who had been thoroughly unimpressed by the course of events, and they moved away from the Falls, off to find Tambor and Hook.

…...

Loading up the Imperial had been a breeze, and given his daytime dozing (and discreet rejuvenation at the Falls,) Eugene was designated to drive the first leg of the journey back home. Beside him in the passenger's seat, Rapunzel had fallen asleep. Hook and Tambor were uncomfortably crowded in the back, along with Max, and beneath their feet, a wooden crate from their Canadian friends made it just about impossible to stretch out. Despite that, Hook had fallen right to sleep.

Tambor gazed out the window as they moved eastward once more. Eugene tended to speed, but no one else shared the road with them. As they came on to a relatively straightforward stretch, he cleared his throat, giving voice to the thoughts that had been rolling around in his head ever since they'd left Niagara Falls.

"Hey, Norb."

A sleepy grunt came from the back.

"Norb, I need you to do me a favor. I need to see Mr. Tagnoski."

The head of the family was notoriously elusive, almost as much as Scipio had been. Eugene had only seen Mr. Tagnoski once or twice, and had never spoken to him directly. Few ever saw the boss without an invitation.

"Whaffor?"

Eugene swallowed. He was truly delusional if he thought what he was thinking would work, but as he glanced at the blonde head on his shoulders, he knew he had to give it a try.

"Don't worry about it. Just put in a word for me with him, all right?"

Norb grunted his consent, and Eugene settled more comfortably in his seat. He felt better than he had in months, in body and mind. He wondered why he'd never tried to feel this good before, and as farmsteads spread out around him, he grinned. Things were finally starting to look up.

* * *

There's a few things I learned from the DVD's extras, and from the Art of Tangled, such as all of the changes the story went through before it became what it is. And I'm glad that it did, because, if it had been anything else, I can count myself among the many that would not have something timeless that brings them a ridiculous amount of joy. I, for one, am so glad that they did not go with the parody angle they initially envisioned, and the 'darker' version I have found bits and pieces of seems closer to the Grimm's telling, though I don't know much about it. Walt Disney himself started working on a Rapunzel story, but if he had done it, it would have been something more along the lines of Cinderella or Snow White; there would have been no feisty heroine in Rapunzel or reticent hero in Flynn, and certainly no grandiose villain like Gothel. I wish there was a way to thank Greno and Howard and Keane and everyone that worked on Tangled properly. I guess this fic is sort of my offering of devotion to people who can make something touching, and a hope that I'll be able to do something similar someday.


	10. Chapter Ten

As summer looms, so do other projects. I'll try to write quickly so I can move on to my personal things, but at the same time, I need you to promise that you'll let me know if the quality of the story ever wavers, because that simply will not do.

In other news, while writing, I was watching an old NBC documentary, Project XX: The Jazz Age, from 1956. Narrated by Fred Allen, it was a delightful peek back to the Roaring Twenties. I particularly enjoyed the visuals of old automobiles and the flapper girls, and I recommend it to anybody who's got an hour to spare.

* * *

Chapter Ten

Rapunzel, now that she had a moment to herself, had made a terrible and soul-shaking epiphany: there were no books in Hook and Tambor's house.

At least, none in English. The volumes that decorated the guest room's dresser were little more than that-decoration. Their fading print was in Polish, and while she was well read, she was not bilingual. Both of her hosts had only shrugged when she asked if they had anything else. Neither were much for reading, finding most their leisure time consumed by napping, or smoking, or card games.

Though no one seemed to have much time for themselves over the last two days. They'd returned to the Duckling the night after coming back from the Falls, and while Vlad, a burly fellow of the Tagnoski's, assured Rapunzel that it was moonshine of the finest quality, she'd refused to touch the stuff.

The day after, Tambor had announced that Eugene would be able to earn his keep by working for the family, in the back store rooms of the corner grocery he ran in the city.

"Why is it the only thing people seem to think I'm good for is heavy lifting?" Eugene had groaned.

"I could put you in the office," Tambor had suggested, half-joking.

Eugene looked even more horrified. "That's dames' work!"

The comment had made Rapunzel frown, but she'd become too absorbed by the task at hand to linger on it. With Eugene and Tambor gone, Hook had sent her on an errand down the street. Rapunzel had a feeling that Eugene would not be pleased to hear she was wandering around the neighborhood, but what he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Max, for one, seemed equally relieved to be out and about. Brooklyn was drastically different from the crowded streets of Manhattan and the dilapidated despondency of Five Points. While not nearly as wealthy as Uptown, Brooklyn had the same well-off charm, and a certain quietness in its streets, which was all very understandable on a Thursday afternoon.

It was hard to believe she'd left home only a week before. It felt much longer, and a world away; she supposed she could only really blame Eugene. Whenever he was near, she could not help but think she was where she was meant to be.

Rapunzel hugged herself, though the day was a bit on the warmer side. Her heart was racing, and her lips seemed to tingle with a remembered sensation. She was new to this kissing business, but already knew it was nothing like the songs on the radio had made it out to be. In reality, it was much, much better, though they'd been able to do little more than snatch a moment or two for themselves in the last few days. Eugene seemed to be on the verge of devouring her, and while she had at first been frightened, she could not help but reciprocate with a newly discovered hunger of her own.

The bleating of a horn brought her crashing back out of her daydream. She'd come to a stop on the street corner, and now an impatient looking driver was gesturing for her to cross. Grimacing in embarrassment, Rapunzel dashed to the next block, Max at her heels.

Her destination had been closer than she'd thought. The kosher deli on the corner had windows plastered with papers proclaiming the health and quality of the items inside. As she opened the door, a bell chimed, and a wave of smells rolled out onto the sidewalk. Spices and cold, as well as the distinct sourness of pickled goods. Max whined, but Rapunzel told him to wait outside. Reluctantly obedient, the dog rested his laurels and moped below the window.

The deli was well-lit, with clean white counters atop glass cases of cheeses and cuts of meat. Shelves lined the wall, weighted down with cans upon cans of beets and yams and others that she could not read the labels of. Cautiously, she moved around tables that held up pyramids of boxes and vegetables, knowing that she was in the very real danger of being buried under an avalanche of apples if she so much as thought of bumping into something.

There didn't appear to be any one around, and just as she opened out her mouth to call, a large figure burst through the door behind the counter, followed by a woman's angry voice.

Rapunzel recognized Vlad almost instantly, though she was surprised to see him. Inwardly, she chided herself; she couldn't expect him to be only at the Duckling. Like Tambor and Hook, the rest of the Tagnoski had lives outside of their cherished speakeasy.

The large man was pulling on a well-worn trilby, his broad shoulders hunched. He looked as if he was practically fleeing before the much smaller woman that was following him and saying, "I want real challah, now, none of those raisins or chocolate nonsense, do you hear me?"

Vlad nearly plowed over the hapless blonde in his hurry. "Yes, mother, I hear you-Hey, Goldie!"

Rapunzel smiled awkwardly, shuffling out of his way. "Hello, Mister Kiel," she said, glancing at the stout, apron-clad lady that was his mother. She brandished a wooden spoon, her hair gathered under a handkerchief, and frowned.

"Who's this?"

Clearing his throat, Vlad gestured, "Goldie, this is my ma. Ma, this is Rider's girl. You remember Rider?"

"Hardly, I haven't seen that good-for-nothing in months." The woman spoke with an accent, but she was easy to understand. Tucking her spoon into her apron pocket, Mrs. Kiel grasped Rapunzel's hand warmly. "Good to meet you, dear."

Introductions made, Vladimir exited the deli in a hurry. Rapunzel could not blame him, and though she realized his mother was not angry as she had first assumed, and that her shrill voice and manner was simply who she was, it could be a bit grating on the nerves.

Rapunzel was still glad to find that the woman was helpful in finding the cuts that Hook had sent her for. Mrs. Kiel was talkative, asking questions and then answering herself wryly, hardly allowing Rapunzel to get a breath in edgewise.

And so, the girl was caught off guard when Mrs. Kiel inquired, "You will be coming along to shul with us on the first, won't you?"

That was not a word Rapunzel had heard before. "I'm sorry?"

"Shul, dear. You will be attending prayers, yes? I can never get the boys to come, but perhaps a prettier face than mine will convince them."

Mrs. Kiel could only mean the first of December; the day of the Winter Gala, now barely two weeks away. Rapunzel smiled nervously.

"I'll see what I can do."

A pile of newspapers rested beside the register as Mrs. Kiel tallied up her sale. The headline held nothing of any particular interest, but in the corner, a small blurb of text caught Rapunzel's eye.

"I'd like to get this too, please," she said absently, scanning the article.

"Of course, dear."

Max accosted her almost the moment she stepped back onto the street, threatening to upset her armful of paper-wrapped cold cuts. His enthusiasm made it seem as though he'd feared she'd never come back.

Rapunzel scolded him gently as they walked back the way they had come. Her parcels and her hair were tucked awkwardly under her arm, the newspaper unfolded and brandished in the other. She had finished the short paragraph on the front page, and hunted for its continuation on the next.

A Crown Jewel Once Lost, Now To Make Its Debut, cont., she read. Once believed to be yet another victim of the War, the mystical Crown Diamond has arrived on American shores!

With the Winter Gala delayed, Rapunzel gleaned that the Metropolitan, not an institution to let any chance at profit slip by, had decided to open up an exhibit showcasing their most treasured acquisitions. To top it off, they allowed a sneak peek at the Crown Diamond; the stone that Rapunzel had promised to help Eugene steal.

The article in the newspaper slowed her steps. It was a reminder that this task was seemingly impossible, not something accomplished in the dead of night, like their trip to the Falls. Rather, this Diamond was famous, kept under lock and key in the middle of New York City, and no doubt the watchful eyes of police and security.

Why this diamond? Rapunzel wondered. Eugene had told her at the Falls that he was in trouble. Men that she did not know threatened their new happiness; they had been the ones who had tasked Eugene to break into her apartment to find this rock in the first place. But why did they want it? What was it that made this diamond so special?

The Times promised her an answer in the coming days. Building up until the Gala and the Diamond's release to the public, they would publish tidbits of the Diamond's colorful history. Today's entry detailed the Diamond's exotic origins in the East:

Legends of magic and mystery have surrounded this Diamond since it was discovered long ago in the deserts of Far-Off Babylon. Some claim it is a fallen star, while others declare it is a drop of the Sun itself. To look upon it, all would say it's strange facets shine from within with an unearthly light of its own. Coveted by many, and possessed by few, just what is it that makes this Crown Diamond so desirable? Some say it carries exceptional fortune, while others think it has more mystical powers.

That was where the column ended, leaving the girl with no answers, and a growing tangle of questions. Those who read the paper, and the stories would think them just that-stories. They would think nothing of magical powers and mysterious happenings, but Rapunzel knew better.

* * *

A wiry shadow departed from the darkness cast by the squat, red-bricked hospital, moving down Fifth Avenue with swift, purposeful steps. Claude had never felt much welcome in the well-to-do world of Manhattan, and inside Mt. Sinai, he had found himself the subject of many a familiar stare and sneer. Not that they mattered much; he'd done what he'd come to do. In his pocket, his fingers played across a roll of money, though not out of eagerness to spend it.

It had been rattling to see Mr. Tatiascore laid up, pale from blood loss and shock. Even more alarming had been the vacancy beneath the sheets; while the doctors had done what they could to save the old man's life, no amount of work would have repaired his mutilated leg.

Claude jerked at his collar, pulling it up to cover the sides of a face contorted and crooked with outrage. While Tatiascore would be able to do nothing, he was able-bodied and willing. Rider had seemed to disappear off of the face of the Earth, which was just as well. The man was a pittance compared to the twin traitors that had allowed this to happen to Tatiascore. Them, and the woman they now followed like loyal dogs, were the fuel for Claude's ire.

A bitterly cold wind seemed to slice through the holes of the immigrant's scarf as he moved through the eastern gate of Central Park. Contented crowds surrounded him, but he could no more appreciate their mirth than they could understand his anger.

On the western side of the park, over the tops of bare trees, the apartments and abodes of Manhattan's upper class looked on. The sun hovered over them, fading from yellow to orange in the onset of evening. It brought fire to the opulent windows and cornices, nearly blinding any who looked up any higher than the heads of those around them.

Quickening his pace, Claude cut across the grass, avoiding the gaggles of children at play, feeling the puddles of dank rainwater soak into his shoes and trousers like the fresh-churned mud of a battlefield.

* * *

Supper was long over, but the smell of it still pervaded the house. The perogies had predictably vanished rather quickly, but the thick, woody aroma of Tambor's roast continued to rise even as night had fallen. Beneath that, barely noticeable, was the sharper tang of scorched bread that had been Rapunzel's attempted addition to supper. Though the others had dutifully eaten and praised her blackened biscuits, the girl could tell that she had a lot of work to do if she wanted to become any degree of helpful in the kitchen.

Though with the dishes done and the house's occupants dismissed to their respective pursuits for the evening, that was far from Rapunzel's mind. She was settled quite nicely in Eugene's lap, her legs dangling over the edge of the bed. Already she'd begun to decorate the sparse room with sketches, mostly of Max, or of the Duckling's small band. She was working on a new portrait now, one with expressive brows and a lively grin that she had begun to see more of over the last few days.

The subject of her drawing looked on drowsily. Eugene's breathing was easy, his frame strong and warm, one arm wrapped around Rapunzel's waist. "Do I really look like that?" He mumbled.

The girl paused, frowning. "You don't like it?"

"Of course I do," Eugene assured her, mouth twisting. "You've managed to capture the essence of my super-human good looks."

Rapunzel giggled, noting the slim space between their faces, as well as the fact that they were alone; Max was somewhere downstairs, and the door closed. It was with instinct and a newfound boldness that Rapunzel leaned in to catch his mouth first, though it was his persistence that kept her there.

Eugene's tongue brushed against her lips and she parted them obligingly, feeling that strange new hunger begin to stir. His hand cradled the back of her neck, and it was as if neither of them needed to breathe anything but each other. His other arm pulled her closer, and she felt her sketchbook slip from her hands, falling to the floor beside Eugene's boots.

Rapunzel's own fingers brushed over Eugene's unshaven cheeks and buried themselves in his hair, sending goosebumps running up and down his arms. He liked this new side of Rapunzel, the one that squirmed and clung to him with a possessive ferocity. Her hair tickled as it brushed across his skin, and suddenly, it was as if he could not touch enough of her to ever be satisfied. The hand at her waist moved up her front, cupping against the gentle curve of a breast.

He felt Rapunzel stop, and his own muscles stiffened in response. Her eyes-once closed in the throngs of their kiss-were now half open, and he could almost see her thoughts play across her face. Whatever conclusion she reached, it must have been positive; her back arched and her breath quickened, a sound that was like the sweetest music to his ears.

Rapunzel felt as if her body was no longer following her direction. Eugene's smell, his taste, his heat was all-encompassing. What their earlier necking had hinted at was now tantalizingly close, and her nerves were alight wherever he touched. To her dismay, he did not linger at her chest for long, instead following the swoop of her back to her hips, sliding across the waistband of her dress to the place where her thighs met.

Only Eugene's quick reflexes saved Rapunzel from braining herself against the wall as her head jerked back in surprise. The hand that had not gone to keep her from bruising her skull now wavered hesitantly. Eugene seemed reluctant to touch her now, watching as though she was a frightened animal that might run if he got too close.

She would not let the moment slip away. Biting her lip apologetically, Rapunzel shifted her weight, bringing herself to face him more directly. That seemed to appease him for a moment, but a grunt of pain signaled that her adjustment had resulted with a knee in his groin.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered hurriedly, but Eugene only grimaced. Her face was hot and pink with embarrassment as she straddled him, and she placed her hands on his shoulders, not entirely sure of what to do next.

Kissing had been a good start, and, logically, seemed a good place to continue. Rapunzel felt Eugene's muscles bunch and stretch as he returned his hands to her waist, though she'd been half-hoping that he'd revisit the spot that had sent a sweet, yearning shock through her psyche. The trepidation that had momentarily dispelled the mood was now gone, but he was noticeably slower as he moved to the fastenings on the front of her blouse. They parted as Rapunzel mimicked him, but she felt clumsy, the buttons slipping out from between her fingers no matter how tightly she prized at them.

Still, after what seemed to be an eternity of struggling, Rapunzel exposed the taut skin of his chest below the hollow of his throat, winged by sturdy collar bones. She felt a shiver course over her body at her own exposure, though the room was far from cold.

Eugene's hands were once again on her hips and pulling her tightly against him. The roughness of his cheek brushed her ear and his breath glided past her neck. Beneath her, she felt the pressure of something warm and stiff that was most assuredly not his leg. Before she could stop herself, Rapunzel released a shallow whimper of anticipation, though she did not quite have a word for what she was waiting for.

And she wouldn't that night. A pounding on the door made them both jump, knocking their foreheads together.

"Rider!" Tambor's nasal tone came through. When he did not get a response right away, he called again. "Rider!"

Eugene groaned, loud enough for Tambor to hear. "What?"

"You want to see the boss or not?" Amusement colored Tambor's voice as much as annoyance had tainted Eugene's. "He's got time tonight, don't know when else he can pencil you in."

"Shit," Eugene mumbled into Rapunzel's shoulder. He gripped her arms as she giggled, half disappointed, half relieved. Pulling himself up, Eugene added, louder, "Be right there, Norb."

He moaned into Rapunzel's chest before releasing her. She cautiously extricated herself from his lap, accepting a long, languid kiss before they set to righting their clothes.

"The boss?" She asked, smoothing back her hair as Eugene opened the door. He turned to look at her with hungry eyes, and his voice was husky as he explained.

"Mr. Tagnoski himself. I need to talk to him about the… About our plan."

Rapunzel's mind flickered back to the article she'd read earlier in the day. "We have a plan?"

He gave her a wane grin. "We might by the time we get there."

Tambor and Hook were suspiciously silent, waiting for them by the front door with Max. The two humans gave Eugene knowing looks, but received a scathing glare in return. Rapunzel tugged on her coat, hoping that no one noticed the shaking of her knees or the pounding of her heart. No one said a thing as they climbed into the Imperial, the car gliding along the dark Brooklyn streets, back toward the lights of Manhattan. This Mr. Tagnoski was no doubt important, the man that the rest of the Tagnoski bowed their heads to. She'd never seen the man, and he wasn't mentioned much, though it was always with reverence and affection. It was obvious that Eugene respected him, whoever he was, and this plot with the Diamond, and the strange underworld she'd been all but ignorant of a week before, was fast becoming something like home.

* * *

Eugene's palms were cold and clammy, though, just moments before, they'd been warm, snaking their way beneath Rapunzel's clothes, exploring her smooth skin. It had been like stepping inside a painting; he'd seen it, once and briefly, and finding it beneath his fingertips had been incredibly unreal.

Then, of course, business called.

He'd never been a very lucky man, but this windfall had him nearly convinced that something, or someone, was out to get him. He already knew that there were several someones that were out for his blood, but the interruption of his time with Rapunzel hinted at a larger, and even more dire conspiracy. He had no choice but to believe Tambor himself was a man of great evil, and had plotted to disturb them at such an opportune time out of a sadistic hatred for anything remotely good.

Eugene calmed himself with the knowledge that they could always continue later; in fact, he was going to see Mr. Tagnoski in order to insure that there really would be a later. The Imperial passed through Midtown and east across Harlem before turning north again, into Manhattanville. Seemingly out of place, the Convent of the Sacred Heart looked on from a hill to the right; on the left, the Hebrew Orphanage was dark and quiet, empty behind its tall iron fence. Rapunzel's soft gasp at the eerie sight was another reminder that the world she had come from was much, much different than his own.

They did not go much farther before pulling up to the sidewalk in front of an aging tailor's shop. Eugene had seen it before, during the day, but had never been upstairs, where the mob boss waited. He was seized by an understandable anxiety, but it was not the same as the cold fear that gripped him whenever he was presented to Mr. Tatiascore. His deals with the Italian gang were long gone, and if he wanted to keep the Tagnoski's trust, he had to make damn well sure it seemed as if they'd never happened. Max whined as they left him waiting in the car, but it couldn't be helped; Mr. Tagnoski was allergic to dogs.

A stairway up the side of the building lead up to a dark doorway, and the metallic ring of Hook's knocking biting into the quartet's bones.

Vladimir opened the door to let them inside. Rapunzel was surprised to see him, her clear voice breaking the silence that had fallen since they'd left Brooklyn.

"Hello Mr. Kiel," she greeted him cheerfully. Vlad chuckled quietly and nodded in return as Eugene took in the front room. A single lamp illuminated the dark green carpet and wicker chairs, black and white photographs hanging from the paneled walls, now fuzzy with age. A heavy wooden door was set before them, the opaque glass giving no hint to what lay beyond. Hook and Tambor stood to either side, resigning themselves to wait as Vlad ushered Eugene inside. Before anyone could stop her, Rapunzel followed after, and the door swung shut with a solid thunk.

Vlad shuffled to the far side of the desk that was the largest piece of furniture in the room. Another man stood beside him, a silent, bald fellow that Eugene rarely saw, but knew his name to be Ulf. Both flanked a tall leather seat, the man between them comically drastic in his short stature.

Mr. Tagnoski was nearly child sized, with a face half obscured by a bushy white beard and a tomato-like nose. His expression was sedately impassive as he took in the two much younger petitioners that stood nervously before him.

Eugene was surprised to find Rapunzel at his side, but she stood as straight as he did, and appeared to be just as nervous. As he began to clear his throat to make his plea, Vlad cut him off, speaking for Mr. Tagnoski.

"Explain why you have come here today to make a case to Mister Tagnoski," he demanded.

Rapunzel blanched, shocked by this direct and stiff mode of speech, but Eugene felt words tumble out of his mouth as quickly as he could think of them.

"I came to see if Mister Tagnoski could help me," he said, glancing back and forth between Vlad and the small old man, not sure just who he was supposed to direct his attention to.

Vlad stooped and Tagnoski muttered into his ear. Straightening, Vlad said, "Why should Mister Tagnoski help you?"

Eugene swallowed and resisted the urge to pat his pockets for a cigarette. "He shouldn't," he admitted abruptly. "He doesn't have to. But this isn't about me. This is about the Tatiascore. This is about my father."

The room was now filled with a sudden and electric tension. Mr. Tagnoski raised a hand, halting Vlad in his trip down, and gestured for Eugene to continue.

The Tagnoski were not the ferocious killers that the Tatiascore were, but a cold and dark enmity ran deep between them. It had only festered in the years since Eugene's arrival to America, and he knew he could use it to his advantage. In the back of his mind, he convinced himself that he was not manipulating the men his father had once called comrades; rather, he was helping them, to make up for working with the Tatiascore all along.

"I heard that the Tatiascore are plotting a robbery," he began, then swallowed again. "A big one. That diamond everyone's been talking about, at the museum…"

Mr. Tagnoski's brows began to furrow, not following. To Eugene's right, Rapunzel said quietly, "The Crown Diamond." She glanced at Eugene, who looked startled, then back to Tagnoski. "Sir."

Eugene sucked in a breath and nodded. "That one. They're planning to steal it, right out of the museum. And we can't let them."

Vladimir bent, and passed along Mr. Tagnoski's whispered question. "Why should we do that?"

"Because," Eugene explained, making it up as he went along. "Because it's the biggest job they've ever planned, and if we can take it right from under them, it'll be revenge for what they did to my dad."

It was Eugene's only trump card, the memory of his father. He'd been the Tagnoski's man up until he'd tried to sell out the Tatiascore to the police, and had earned nothing but a new pair of cement shoes for his troubles. The Tagnoski had always known what had happened to him, and resented to let the death of one of their own go unpunished, but had been unable to do anything, up until now.

Though Eugene no longer knew if his father's name still carried any weight. Mr. Tagnoski's unwavering gaze was somewhat encouraging, and he hoped that the old man would not ask the one question Eugene did not have an answer to: how he knew about the Tatiascore's job.

Vlad seemed about to ask himself before Mr. Tagnoski demanded, foregoing his middleman, "_Co sprawia, że kamień ten jest tak wyjątkowy_?"

Eugene looked at Vlad, who echoed in more understandable English, "What makes this… Diamond so special to them, Rider?"

That was something Eugene had not expected, and to his chagrin, realized he did not have an answer for that either.

Rapunzel came to his rescue.

"I don't know them," she started, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room. "These… Tatiascore people, I mean." She stumbled over the unfamiliar name, but her voice lost none of its conviction. "But I know that they aren't good. There is something about this Diamond that means a lot to them, and I know stealing isn't right…" Her expression became clouded. "But if we can keep it out of their hands, than we'll be doing everyone else a favor. You can trust Eugene. He knows that it's something we have to do."

Rapunzel wrung her hands as she spoke, but she refused to look away from Mr. Tagnoski as he listened to her. She meant what she said, though she wasn't quite sure why she said them. These people were here to see Eugene, not her, but she had come with him, and would not be quiet if she thought she could help. The article from The Times swam to the forefront of her mind once more, and so did the strange feeling of familiarity with the Crown Diamond and its alleged mystical powers. Of course, she couldn't tell that to Mr. Tagnoski, and closed her mouth. Foolishness and embarrassment crawled like a spider between her shoulder blades, but before she looked away, she could swear that the bald man on the right winked at her.

With a grunt, Mr. Tagnoski pushed his chair away from his desk, disappearing for a moment behind the wooden top. He rounded the desk, walking with a wandering step, before stopping in front of Rapunzel. He took her small, smooth hand in two of his own, his face breaking into a wide, nearly toothless grin.

"_Znalazłeś idealny promień słońca_," he said, not giving Vlad time to translate before releasing Rapunzel and nodding to Eugene. "_Będziemy tak się stało, mój synu_."

Not quite believing that he could have possibly received what he'd come for, Eugene looked at Vlad, who looked just as surprised.

"You've got what you wanted, Rider."

Relief washed over Eugene in waves. "Thank you, Mister Tagnoski," he said quickly, taking the older man's hand and shaking it eagerly. The old man nodded again, like an indulgent uncle, before waddling back to his seat. As he shuffled through his desk drawers and produced a shining metal flask, it was clear that the appellants were dismissed.

"We'll figure out the details tomorrow," Vlad said, escorting them back out to the Imperial. Max looked very forlorn, waiting for them in the driver's seat. "I can't believe he said yes."

"You and I both," Eugene agreed, then added, "I guess even the boss can't resist the old Rider charm."

All three of the Tagnoski rolled their eyes, and Rapunzel covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. She was glad to see Eugene looking relieved, even satisfied, though they now had their work cut out for them. She had to admit that with Hook and Tambor and the others to help, it would probably be much easier than she had first imagined.

Still, straggling thoughts nagged. There was the Tatiascore, whoever they were; they wanted to hurt Eugene, and take the Diamond, and that danger was a very real cause for fright. He did not seem to be worrying, however, so she pushed that from her mind. The Diamond itself was another mystery; its supposedly mysterious properties something that most present-minded people would scoff at, but not something Rapunzel could easily dismiss.

Some time later, they were back in Brooklyn, the house now dark and quiet. Eugene had banished Max from their room again, the closed door and window-framed moonlight lending the air an ethereal and dreamlike quality.

He lay on his back, Rapunzel half on top of him, as she had been that previous Sunday night. Though, this time, Eugene did not resist the slow, experimental kisses she gave him. His hand on her back was warm, and as her face hovered a hair's breadth from his, Eugene saw watched the arrival of a cautious and thoughtful expression.

"Are you okay?"

Rapunzel sucked in her lower lip, an affectation that Eugene knew he shouldn't find so terribly arousing, but he did. The only thing that kept him from rolling on top of her that instant was her hesitant question.

"Do you really think it will work?"

It could have meant anything, but he knew that she was talking about the Diamond, and the plot to steal it.

In all truthfulness, he was not sure, but with the help of the Tagnoski, their chances were greatly improved. He tightened his arm around Rapunzel's waist and assured her, "Of course, Blondie. Everything will be fine."

She smiled crookedly back on him, but he could tell that was not the only thing on her mind. Raising a brow, he waited for her next inquiry.

This one seemed a bit humiliating for her to admit, and she glanced at the door before asking, "Eugene… what…" It took her a moment to find the right words. "What is a shul?"

Eugene's head fell back against the pillow, and he gave a soft, wry laugh. Rapunzel settled down at his side, rapt as always while he tightened his hold, and began to explain.


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Much to everyone else's surprise, Rapunzel was the first downstairs the next morning. Awake and dressed, she was perched at the head of the table, reading the paper by the light of a single lamp. The sun had not even properly risen yet, though in winter, it seemed as reluctant as anybody to get out of bed. At the girl's feet, Max dozed, his ears twitching at the heavy sound of men's steps.

Eugene, as expected, was the last up. He peered drowsily over Rapunzel's shoulder, curious as to what could have possibly made it so he woke up with a girl-shaped gap beside him.

"'S this?" He mumbled, picking up a clipping that looked to have been delicately torn from the morning's _Times. _The type blurred together before his eyes, and he realized he could not comprehend a thing before a cup of coffee.

"Oh," Rapunzel said, tearing her eyes away from the _Arts & Culture _section of the paper. "It's… It's just a little article. About that diamond that you're after."

Eugene mumbled his thanks after Tambor shoved a cup of scalding black coffee into his hand. He eased into the seat beside Rapunzel's, downing half of it, certain that it was strong enough to peel paint. After a blinking the last of his sleep away, he could read the clipping a bit more clearly. It was a continuation from a previous page, picking up in the middle of a sentence:

…_passed through many hands over the centuries, though it never seemed to belong to any one person for long; it is a treasure more coveted and sought after than the Arc of the Covenant! The Diamond's path has taken it both ways along the Silk Road, from the ruins of the Cradle of Civilization to the exotic Orient and back again. According to records, it was nearly lost forever among the endless sands of the Far East deserts. It did not return to the annals of history until 1876, when the last true Sultan of the Ottomans took the throne from his brother. He claimed that it was the Crown Diamond that so blessed his reign, though it would be a strange twist of Fate that would result in the Diamond's disappearance into obscurity and perhaps even the Fall of an Empire… Read on Tomorrow!_

"Huh," Eugene grunted, returning the clipping to Rapunzel, who folded it back along familiar creases and tucked it into a pocket. "Sounds like a load of applesauce."

Rapunzel frowned, but she looked over Eugene's head to ask Tambor, "Are there any libraries nearby?"

Tambor was patting down his pockets absently, making sure he had all of his things together before a long day of work. "Eh? Libraries? None here with anything worth knowing in them." He sucked on his tongue in thought. "You could always go for the big one, in the city."

"How do I get there?"

"Woah, hold your horses, Blondie," Eugene interrupted, no longer willing to watch the conversation from the sidelines. "Why do you need to go?"

The girl was on her feet, folding up the remains of the newspaper with one hand as she gathered up her hair with the other. "I need to find out about something. About this," her hand went to her pocket.

Eugene's thoughts were an early morning muddle, his brows coming together at the thought of Rapunzel wandering out on her own. "But you can't…" He began, then stopped himself. What was he going to say? He couldn't forbid her from going out, no more than he could forbid flowers from blooming or the Earth from turning. Even if he threatened it, it would make him no better than her mother. Instead, he finished lamely, "You can't go by yourself."

"Then you take 'er," Hook yawned, shambling by the dining room, headed for his coat on its hook by the door. It was a suggestion Eugene expected to hear.

"I've got to work," he countered, looking at Tambor, hoping the man would read the plea in his eyes. Visiting the New York Public Library sounded as exciting as the Natural History Museum had been. His desperation went deliberately ignored.

"I'd hate to see the little lady disappointed," Tambor replied with his usual nasal pleasantness. "The train station ain't far out of the way, I'll drop you both off. You've just got to meet us at the Duckling tonight, boss man wants to discuss this bird-brained scheme of yours."

Eugene's shoulder's slumped even as Rapunzel bounced on the balls of her feet. Her hand was warm when she touched him, grinning from ear to ear.

"Copacetic," he moaned, but she was already bounding up the steps, thanking Tambor emphatically over her shoulder. He was somewhat cheered by the fact that at least Max would be housebound for the day. The dog did not seem so pleased, however, his whine following even after they'd shut the door and made their way down off the brownstone's stoop.

Rapunzel regarded the elevated train station with no small measure of caution as the sun left the horizon, only to be enveloped by low, swollen clouds. She clung to her hair and hat and skirt as the train roared in, kicking up stray papers and other refuse. Her enthusiasm doubled, though, as the train moved toward Manhattan. Below the tracks, automobiles trafficked people to and fro. Lines of children made their way to schoolyards, chaperoned by the watchful mothers on their own errands. Storefronts, houses, and yards raced past, and Rapunzel could not help but contort in her seat to try and see it all.

Eugene could not fight the sleepy smirk that crept on his face, finding a strange sort of contentment in watching Rapunzel take it all in. Still, the rocking of the train as it pushed forward, pausing occasionally at other stations, was lulling, and he felt his eyelids drooping.

They flew open again as he heard Rapunzel gasp. Brooklyn had suddenly given away to the cold, grey water of the East River. North of them, the Manhattan Bridge stretched over the expanse, a wonder of steel and cable that they had crossed before, on their way to and from the Duckling. She had never seen it from a distance, not like this, and she remembered very well what it had been like to pass between the great metal supports, astonished at what men could build, and feeling very small.

She heard Eugene's low chuckle, but when she looked at him, he only pulled his new hat (an old trilby, actually, a hand-me-down from Hook) over his face and leaned back to doze.

He awoke once they were safe within the sanctum of Manhattan's south end. Rapunzel was almost glad to look down on the familiar dilapidated streets, but Eugene could not usher her underground quickly enough. She held her breath as their new train moved uptown, but the people who crowded their car were far too tired to be terrifying.

Rapunzel was still at a loss for air when they emerged on Forty-second street, stepping up into the middle of Times Square. Automobiles puffed and honked at pedestrians who grumped, yelled, and dashed their way across the roadway, observed by brilliantly painted advertisements. Metal frames held up arrangements of lights that, when turned on, would flash even more brightly than the stars in the sky, and promise the decadence found within the theaters, nightclubs, and restaurants that surrounded the square. But, for now, the bulbs were dull and lifeless, the glass making small sounds as it began to rain.

Eugene observed the shower with a scowl, but, thankfully, Rapunzel was just as eager to get indoors and out of the weather as he was. They turned down Fifth Avenue after walking east a few blocks, and while Eugene was not surprised that Rapunzel inhaled at the sight of the Library's stern building, he did wonder if she would ever run out of things to marvel.

Not that he would ever want her to.

Though the wind and water came harder now, Rapunzel stopped to admire one of the stately lions that guarded the Library's wide front steps. Its white stone muzzle was now grey with ponderous rain, but still there was an effortless grace in the carving of its mane and flanks; she could not help but think that if she touched it, the statue might ripple into life.

The Library's wide foyer echoed with the footsteps of others who sought shelter amongst its aging collection. Rapunzel approached the front desk shyly, and while Eugene did not catch just what it was she was looking for, he dutifully followed her up another set of stairs and down a wide, well-lit corridor. She paused in the doorway of an enormous room, grey light pouring in through the huge, arched windows high in its white marble walls. Overstuffed bookcases and rows of tables stretched on and on, illuminated by electric chandeliers that hung from the paint-and-gilt ceiling.

The main reading room was even more beautiful than Rapunzel could have imagined. Only the soft sound of shifting pages interrupted the studious quiet, dust motes dancing in the air. Eugene sat uneasily at the unoccupied end of one of the tables, and she felt him watching as she flagged down a librarian, who would bring her what she needed.

The volume that was retrieved was not very old, but it felt heavy with knowledge in Rapunzel's grip. As she sat down beside Eugene, he read the title aloud, "_A Collected History of the Ottoman Empire_?"

Rapunzel flinched and brought her finger to her lips. Eugene was not impressed, but his voice dropped down to a whisper, "What's this for, Goldie?"

"I told you," she answered, producing the snippet from the paper. "It's about the Diamond." She opened the book, the spine creaking with disuse, and ran her fingers over the first few cream-colored pages. There was no equal to the way a book smelled. Eugene opened his mouth to ask another question, but already Rapunzel's eyes were speeding over the print, and he could not bring himself to interrupt.

He couldn't see what it was that she needed to know, or what the Ottomans had to do with the stone they were after. He was not on the up-and-up with his global events, but he knew that the Empire was essentially no more. After the Great War, maps of the world had been redrawn to suit a new age. In a city full of immigrants from places like Russia and Armenia and France, it would have been difficult to miss the news of revolution that had reduced the old Sultanate to little more than political rubble.

Still, that did not explain what that had to do with the Crown Diamond.

Rapunzel did not bother to go back to the very beginning, instead shifting to the last few chapters, skimming over names and dates. Even when she absorbed what she read there, she knew it would be no good. Though the book was not terribly old, it still ended before the Great War, and before what she needed to find out. Yet it rewarded her with a hint of where to look next.

She shut the book and stood, asking Eugene quietly, "How much do you know about the last Ottoman Emperor?"

He frowned, nonplussed. "Nothing. I don't get what's so important about all of this."

She was hurt by the frustration in his tone. "Because it's important to _me,_" she said, hoping he would hear the plea in her voice. She needed him to understand, even if she could not quite explain why it was so dire that she learned about the past. The knowledge of the Diamond's legendary power would really mean nothing to her, especially if they got rid of the rock as soon as they found it (which, if they were smart, they would; no thief stood around with his thumb in his mouth and his prize in his hand if he wanted to live.) But if it shared her gift, or, at least, the propensity for magical powers, it would show her what she'd thought was limited only to herself and her mother. It would show her that maybe she wasn't so strange after all, and explain just how someone like her would come to be.

Eugene sighed, his shoulders sagging in defeat. "Okay, Blondie. Whatever you say."

Rapunzel touched his arm briefly before her steps carried her back to the librarian. Her whispered requests were answered, and she returned with two books this time: _The Lives and Legacies of The Ottoman Emperors, _and _Mythical Legends of the Far East_. Eugene watched as she opened up the first, flipping through its pages until almost the very end.

She stopped at a solemn portrait of a man with an aquiline nose and a scruffy, trimmed beard. His head was covered by an odd-looking hat, but he wore a sharp suit, and seemed to gaze out of the picture sternly, as if he thought the reader had much better things they could be doing. The caption of the picture named him Abdul Hamid the Second.

Concentration settled over Rapunzel's features as she drew the book closer, and Eugene groaned, resigning himself to a long afternoon of waiting.

* * *

Eugene's castle was coming along quite nicely.

Constructed of precariously balanced pencils, he was using Rapunzel's hair as a moat when he heard her sigh and shut her latest tome with an air of finality.

Their table and the floor around them had become so crowded with books that he'd fear she would disappear behind the stacks for good. She hadn't noticed when he'd gotten up to pace the room and stretch his legs, nor the inane manner in which he'd continued to amuse himself. He squashed his little project and asked, "You okay?"

Rapunzel pressed the heels of her hands into her too-dry eyes, brows coming together. It took a moment to find her voice to answer. "Yeah."

She didn't know if she found more answers than questions in her hunt through dusty pages. _The Lives and Legacies _had only been a starting point, launching her through three more biographies of Abdul Hamid the Second. He had been the last "true" Emperor the _Times _had referred to in their article, though it was his successor that had seen the Ottoman Empire through to the end. Hamid's reign had been one defined by conflict, and she hadn't been all that surprised to read of his eventual disposition. The first two books she had read blamed his aristocracy for his downfall; but the third, a slender volume that hadn't been opened in several years, by the librarian's account, seemed to hint at something more.

Conflict begat conflict: Hamid had taken the throne from his brother, she read, who had ruled for only ninety-three days. The politics of the Empire were of no interest to her, nor to the author of the book, who skated over bureaucratic details in favor of the more mystical. It was the first history book she found that referenced the Crown Diamond, though it was by another, more archaic name.

…_Hamid held the gleaming Desert Flower as he rode into the Mosque. With the Sword of Osman in one hand and the Flower in the other, the new Emperor seemed to shine brighter than the waters of the Golden Horn, an inheritor of the Sun's Gift to guide his people through reformation…_

Unfortunately, and to Rapunzel's dismay, the book ended shortly after that. It was one of a series that followed the history of a stone called the Desert Flower. In _Mythical Legends of the Far East_, Rapunzel discovered that the Desert Flower had acquired many monikers over the centuries: the Star of Babylon, the Sun's Tear, the Sun's Crown, and, finally, the Crown Diamond.

A sense of urgency had propelled Rapunzel back through the more complete biographies, but they failed to explain what role the Diamond had played in the last days of Hamid's empire. He was dethroned by yet another brother in 1909, and had died nine years later, though only one book had been recent enough to illuminate her of that fact. It was just as the _Times _had said: the Diamond seemed to all but disappear.

Yet, it had reemerged, and it was only a matter of blocks away, in the very same city. What had happened to it in the intervening years?

None of the rest of the books she had browsed had been any help in finding a solution. Collected histories and references had proved fruitless. The day had slipped by, and the clock hanging over the Reading Room's doorway declared it was already a quarter to five. Rapunzel's knees wobbled when she stood, and she was grateful for Eugene's steadying hand. He helped her return books to the librarian, and did not seem to mind her silence as she tried to reorganize her thoughts.

She did not want to stop, but she had struck a dead end. She would be no use to anyone if she wore herself out searching for something that she could not even be sure she could find.

Her mother might know something, she realized, but she couldn't bring herself to think of returning home. Gothel would be too angry to think of entertaining any request of Rapunzel's, especially one so frivolous.

The rain had stopped, collecting in cold puddles over the streets and sidewalk. As they paused on the Library's graceful portico, blinking in the onset of evening, Eugene asked, "Are you hungry?"

Rapunzel put a hand to her stomach, feeling suddenly hollow. She grinned weakly and snaked her arm through his.

"Starving."

* * *

Night found them underground, in the hidden sanctuary of the Duckling. There would be no celebrating tonight. Instead it was a solemn meeting, with Mr. Tagnoski himself at the head of the mismatched tables they had pushed together for this purpose. He was once again flanked by Vladimir and Ulf, with Hook and Tambor at each hand. Eugene and Rapunzel were both surprised to see Doctor Arceneau arrive, though he appeared harassed by the weather. The respite from the rain had been brief, and had swiftly turned to sleet.

They were warm and comfortable down below, and quiet as Mr. Tambor spoke, outlining what they already knew.

"So the Gala's on the first. That only gives us a week and a half to prepare something. Anything. Just _what _exactly did you have in mind, Rider?"

Eugene licked his lips. He'd come up with a rousing speech on the way to the Duckling, but with the handful of expectant faces watching, it was promptly forgotten. Clearing his throat, he began, "I… I'm not sure." He watched their expressions turn to varying degrees of dubiousness and disappointment-though, in Rapunzel's case, she wore a plain and simple smile of encouragement. "It's supposed to debut at the show, right? So we just have to take it before then. Maybe we should just…" He swallowed, feeling very foolish. "Break into the Museum?"

Outbursts of disbelief and disparaging ran around the table. Hook snorted. "Break into the Metropolitan? Right behind you on that one, kid."

"A right genius idea," Tambor agreed sarcastically.

Tagnoski murmured something, and Vlad translated, "Do you know what the Tatiascore are planning?"

Eugene shook his head. It was the truth. Since his failure to steal the Diamond in the first place, he hadn't exactly been in the loop to find out about the back up plan. "All I know is that they're after it. Sir."

"The Tatiascore are likely not after anything anymore."

The eyes of the room turned to Arceneau, who observed them over the rims of his glasses. "Scipio Tatiascore is still in the hospital," he said matter-of-factly. "And not likely to recover soon. I doubt he will be up for such thievery come the first."

Eugene remembered the night Arceneau had told him what had happened to Tatiascore. Then there was the case of the Stabbingtons; if they no longer worked for the unscrupulous Italian, then he did not have the muscle to pull of his heist.

Who the twins worked for now was still a mystery. Whoever that was, did not seem to be after the Diamond, but rather, Rapunzel.

He glanced down at the blonde beside him. Again, he was struck by the notion that her long locks were not the same shade of gold as it had been when they'd met. They'd darkened considerably, but in the poor light of the speakeasy, it was difficult to judge.

Her brows were furrowed in thought, green eyes unseeing as she said quietly, "There's going to be a performance."

The rest of the table had paused. Arceneau pushed up his spectacles and asked, "Come again, my dear?"

"A performance," Rapunzel repeated, stronger this time. "At the Gala. My… Morse, Gothel Morse, she's going to sing."

Rapunzel did not know why she couldn't confess who her mother was. Perhaps it was a fear that the Tagnoski would not quite trust her if they knew where she had come from. With them, she was someone new, a clean slate, though she was apprehensive of what would come to be written there in the coming days.

"She's going to sing, and she'll wear the Diamond. It's part of the show," Rapunzel added. "But not for very long. It's a short song, I mean."

Tagnoski muttered to Vlad in Polish again, and the large fellow looked astonished. "Are you sure?" He asked the old man, and was rebuked with a stiff nod. Straightening, Vlad told the onlookers, "He says… He says we'll take it. At the Gala, during the performance."

The mutters of dissent were now replaced by gasps of disbelief. Eugene and Rapunzel exchanged glances, both of their thoughts on Morse.

"What do you mean?" Hook frowned.

Tambor answered, understanding first. "If Morse is singing, the Diamond isn't going to be guarded. It'll be a breeze; I doubt the old lady can put up much of a fight."

Rapunzel's voice wavered as she asked, "You're not going to hurt her, are you?"

Tambor shook his head and wrinkled his overlarge nose. His reassurance was drowned out as Hook objected again, "And how do you suppose we get into the party? Drive the Imperial through the front doors, guns blazing?"

"There's no need for _that_," Arceneau said dryly. "I've got an invitation."

He looked thoroughly offended by the raised brows that met this announcement. "Despite the company I keep, I am a respectable society man," he reminded them. "If any of you ever cared to pay attention."

Eugene felt a smirk creep along his lips, despite his worry. "Well, that's good for you, Doc, but do you think you could handle taking care of one singer _and _the police all by yourself?"

"Probably not."

"We need to be quiet like," Tambor nodded. "But if the Doc can get on the inside, how hard will it be for the rest of us?"

Vlad reiterated Mr. Tagnoski's question, "Who's hosting the Gala?"

"The Governor," Rapunzel answered. "Do you think he can help?" It did not seem likely that a man would volunteer to help a group of mobsters bent on robbing his own party.

Mr. Tagnoski stroked his beard thoughtfully. He looked even smaller than when Rapunzel had seen him last, and she was fairly certain he was perched on a box of some sort to help him see over the table. "_Warto mieć przyjaciół na wysokich stanowiskach_," he said, nodding to Arceneau, who leaned back in his seat.

"I suppose Smith does owe me a favor or two."

Eugene did not bother to hide his shock. "You sure get around."

"I _am _a doctor, son," Arceneau said. "I am beginning to think you lot do not care about me at all. I helped the Missus last year with a case of pneumonia, and our dear Governor Smith has been quite friendly ever since."

Tambor clapped his hands together. "It's coming together a lot easier than I thought it would," he said gleefully. "No thanks to _you, _Rider."

"Hey-"

"It is not that simple," Arceneau interrupted. "I'm a busy man, Tambor, and so is Smith. I doubt I'll get the chance to call on him during respectable hours. One of you will have to convince him."

"Convince him how?"

Arceneau pursed his lips. "Our dear Governor has a certain fondness for liquor. He makes a weekly appearance at the Cotton Club, but if he was persuaded to give our Duckling a visit, I might be able to put in a good word." He held up one finger, mouth set in a grim line, "But he cannot discover our intentions. I doubt he would be so eager to assist such a crew of conniving villains as you."

Eugene spread his hands in a shrug as the Doctor caught his eye, and grinned. "Take it easy, Doc. We're professionals."

Mr. Tagnoski cleared his throat, drawing their attention back to the front of the table. Though they were in no danger of being overheard, the Polish boss spoke low, his court rapt as they began to put together a plot to ensnare the good Governor Smith. Eugene, of course, seemed to draw the shortest straw in their plans, but he had learned long before not to expect anything else.

* * *

**Copacetic**: _very satisfactory_. Origin unknown, first known use: 1919 (according to Merriam-Webster). Slang from the twenties is pretty catchy, but I'd never heard that word before. However, if Flynn's the sort of guy who can throw "simpatico" around in every day conversation, "copacetic" seems reasonably within his repertoire.

I've taken a page from CE's book and started watching Errol Flynn movies, and may I say, what a performer. I've always been a big fan of the old black and whites; there's a certain humor and cinematic style to them that you don't see much of anymore. I can't say much for Errol Flynn's life off screen, but I can definitely see the characters he plays in Tangled's own swashbuckling hero. Plus, he's got a hell of a sense of style. If I had such a collection of cravats and coats as he did in _Captain Blood, _I might make a respectable gentleman out of myself someday.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

Rapunzel's sleep became restless.

The ride home from the Duckling was a sleepy haze, punctuated by rude awakenings whenever the Imperial dipped into a pothole or took a corner too fast. Eugene had watched her dozing with equal parts bemusement and concern; she assured him that it was only from spending all day up to her eyelashes in books that she was so tired. She knew when she settled in beside him in bed that she should stay awake, chasing that strange spark, but her eyelids were too heavy, as if something called her consciousness down onto the pillow and away from the waking world.

She blamed the strange things she read for the odd turn that her unconsciousness had taken. Despite her earlier exhaustion, she was thrust back into wakefulness more than once, feeling as though the end of her dreams had been just out of reach. Finally giving up on passing the rest of the night peacefully, she opened her eyes and squinted at the faded twilight of the room.

Eugene's arm was wrapped protectively around her waist, and his persistent snore was the only sound beside the rustling of the leaves that lined the street outside. He looked much more serene than he ever did when he was awake, lips parted just so, the space between his brows smooth and untroubled. She felt a pang of guilt for falling asleep when there were much more valuable ways to be spending their time, but at the same time knew that he would forgive her, and waiting until the moment was right was not a difficult task.

Rapunzel mimicked her beau, brushing brown hair away from his face before cautiously climbing out of bed. The floor was cool on her bare feet, and she wondered where Max had gotten to.

She followed the sounds of movement down the stairs and found him in the kitchen, watching Hook shuffle and back and forth between small wooden crates that had appeared on the counters. Max whined as she entered, and she reached down to scratch him between the ears.

Hook looked over his shoulder and frowned. "Bit early, dollface," he remarked. The clock on the wall read half past four.

"I couldn't sleep," Rapunzel murmured in reply. She peered around Hook's hulking shape and asked, "What are you doing?"

"Careful," Hook advised, moving from one spot to another. In his good hand, he clutched a slender, paper-wrapped cylinder, a slip of twine protruding from one end. He wiggled his hook with a soft chuckle, "Wouldn't want you ending up like me."

The box beside the sink that he had pulled the strange parcel from was full of sawdust, and Rapunzel saw the circular ends of other shapes poking through. A second crate with its lid half off betrayed more of the same objects. She realized why Max was so nervous, and why Hook examined the cylinders with such care; the police-trained dog would be able to smell the contents of the boxes, and Hook had learned from experience the power of what he handled.

Dynamite.

Rapunzel's fingers curled around the doorframe, and she was reluctant to take a step farther into the kitchen. "What is it for, Mister Hook?"

The large man returned the small explosive to its cradle and pulled the lid back on before answering. "Hopefully, nothing," he said, and while she could not see his face, Rapunzel could hear the cautious optimism. "But this ain't child's play we're getting at, and a fella's got to be ready for whatever might come his way."

He could only mean the Gala. Rapunzel had heard the dangers of explosives before. After the Great War, the city had been rife with unrest of a most fevered and combustible sort. She'd only been a baby at the time, but the bombings were not something so easily forgotten. Whatever the Tagnoski were planning, she hoped that these bits of dynamite did not matter much into it. People could get hurt, but they had promised Rapunzel that no one would come to harm. It was only a simple robbery.

Eugene would not let them, she knew.

Eugene was too good of a man to let Rapunzel or anyone else get hurt. Even in his sleep he tried to protect her, and not in the terrible, stifling way her mother did. He had shown her so many things, and she knew he would bring her the world, if she asked him.

_Probably_.

She wound her fingers through her hair, feeling with its familiar weight also the strain of uncertainty in Eugene's voice when they'd been at the Falls, or whenever she tried to mention the legend of the Diamond that she'd learned in the Library. Even after seeing it with his own eyes, Eugene did not seem to quite believe the magical qualities that she possessed, and even if he did, he regarded them with the distrust and fear that Gothel had always warned her about.

Rapunzel's own dread curled in the pit of her stomach, its icy tendrils promising no more sleep that night. Hook noticed the look cross over her face, and frowned.

"Are you alright, Blondie?"

There was some bit of hope that fought back against her hesitation. Rapunzel had discovered something that the radio often crooned about, muddled over and yearned for. Something that seemed to be as sweet and elusive as moonshine:

She was in love.

Her fingers stroked the space between Max's ears, and Hook's query went unheard. She thought only of Eugene, and the way he grinned at her. He did not share that same smile, somewhat soft around the corners of his eyes, with anyone else. He certainly would not have followed anyone else into the Museum or the Library or the Duckling's dance floor, and he did not kiss or hold anyone else the way he did Rapunzel. Though neither of them had said a word on the matter, she could only believe that he loved her, too.

Hook repeated himself and Rapunzel emerged from her reverie. She gave him a shaky, nervous smile. "Yeah, I'm fine."

The thug raised an eyebrow and hoisted up one of his boxes. "Good. I think you should probably head back up to bed, doll. You and your bird are gonna be busy later."

She only nodded and bade him a soft, "Good night," before returning upstairs, Max on her heels. Eugene hadn't budged from where she'd left him, though he did look a little forlorn with no company but the empty space beside him. Rapunzel could not sleep, and she did not try, instead pulling her sketchbook from under the mattress and opening it to a spread of blank pages. She was alarmed to find that there were not many of those left, but supposed that once she ran out, she could always buy another.

Her thoughts turned to her mother's money, still stashed in her coat pocket. She knew living in New York City could be expensive, but it had been the little things that had eaten away at her budget. At least they did not have to pay to stay in Hook and Tambor's house, and Eugene earned a little by working for his friends, but she did not think she would be able to ask him to buy things for her. It was a new age, after all: women voted, and took jobs, and did as they pleased, unlike any of the generations of women that came before. Perhaps when the time came, she'd take that "dame's work" in the office of Tambor's grocery that Eugene had been so vehemently against.

But those were thoughts for another day. Her fingers found their home around a dwindling stub of charcoal, and Eugene's easy breathing was a rhythmic accompaniment to the sound of her eager drawing.

* * *

"How can you even read that?"

Eugene frowned at the giggle that slipped in through one ear and out the other, smoothing the corner of the crumpled paper in his hand. Beneath a torn-out photograph from the paper, rather sloppy scrawl declared "SMITH PAVILION" in smudged black ink, but he didn't really think his handwriting was all _that _bad.

"We can't all be artists," he retorted to the mostly-blonde on his arm. Rapunzel only rolled her eyes before returning her attention to the crowd that passed around them. Bundled up against the Atlantic wind, their muffled laughter mingled with the sound of music and the stomp of feet on the sand-strewn boardwalk. Hawkers boasted roasted peanuts and popcorn as the sky's blue darkened, eager to be rid of their wares before they went home for the night. The buzz of electric lights passed overhead, illuminating the posters and signs of the sturdier eating establishments and souvenir shops that bordered the picturesque parks of Coney Island. At the far end, the entrance of Steeplechase stood guard, the cries and shouts of patrons evidence enough of their enjoyment of what the Park had to offer. Behind them, at the eastern end of the boardwalk, what remained of Dreamland looked on, a somber reminder of freak shows past.

Beside the pair, Maximus filled his nose with the spicy aroma of sausages, hamburgers, and elephant ears, all the sweet and savory delights that had been denied him during his patrols along the dank waterfronts of Manhattan. It was almost too much to hope that his newly adopted humans would be pausing in their quest to hunt down a bite to eat.

Scanning over the heads of passerby, Eugene grumbled at the excess of people that made it difficult to navigate. It certainly was not as crowded as it would be in the summer months, but he didn't know his way around, and pride wouldn't let him ask for directions. Time was not exactly on their side, either; they only had a half an hour to find the re-elected Governor where he was cutting the ribbon of Coney Island's latest addition that had been built in his name.

Eugene guided Rapunzel off of the boardwalk and into the thick of Twelfth Street, knowing that the man they were looking for was lurking somewhere in The Bowery. He didn't like being somewhere so unfamiliar, and he'd grown used to the presence of Tagnoski muscle to help him out of a bind, if he ever found himself in another one. There was some reassurance, though, in knowing that the Stabbingtons and Tatiascore would never suspect to find him out here, and watching Rapunzel's delight at the array of amusements was very much its own reward.

He'd been puzzled to find her already awake when he'd rolled over that morning, but she'd been so wrapped up in her drawing that she hadn't noticed him stir. He'd been content to watch her for a while, but he could not resist the smell of breakfast for long. Rapunzel was almost sheepish when he finally made it known he was awake, but he couldn't guess what she would have been hiding.

"Anything interesting in the paper this morning?" He asked, out of genuine curiosity, and anything to keep his mind off of the crowd. Rapunzel's lower lip protruded with her disappointment.

"No," she answered. She'd been dismayed to find that the Times was only printing repeats of their weekday articles about the Diamond, so what she'd read during breakfast were things that she already knew. The only thing of use was the time and place where they could find their quarry. "I'll just have to wait until Monday."

"Just what are you looking so hard for?" She'd said it was important to her, and Eugene was not going to get in the way, but that did not mean her mission was any clearer.

Rapunzel bit her lower lip, trying to find the right words. "I know it's just a diamond, but I read it, and it sounded like something…" Her hand left his arm for the first time since they'd stepped off the train in the southern reaches of Brooklyn, and joined its partner in twisting her braid anxiously. "I just wanted to know if…" She sighed. "It's _complicated._"

They'd stopped walking, with the flow of leaving beachgoers moving around them and paying little mind. Max took his post at Rapunzel's feet, and Eugene shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, suddenly unsure of what to do with them. He could tell that Rapunzel was not used to keeping secrets, and he was very unhappy at the thought of witnessing such a deception.

Before he could open his mouth to say so, Rapunzel released her hair and pointed over his shoulder. "Look!" she exclaimed. "Do you think we could see the Pavilion from the top of that?"

Eugene turned and craned his neck to take in the sight of the Wonder Wheel; with the onset of evening, the circle of steel and color was lit up enough to almost drown out the smaller rides that surrounded it. He could not keep his frown from twisting wryly.

"You just want to ride the ferris wheel."

Rapunzel could only grin and hope he would allow the subject of the Diamond to drop. She did not like the feeling of keeping the importance of it from him, but at the same time, she did not want to him to think she was obsessed over something that could possibly be nothing at all. Things had been very well and dandy at the Falls a few days before, but weren't there plenty of songs written about how often a man changed his mind? And the women who sang them didn't even have to cope with unnatural magical abilities factoring into the equation!

"Come on, Blondie," Eugene relented, though Rapunzel led the way to the base of Coney Island's main attraction. She bounced on her heels as they waited in line, but neither of them said a word. Max was very unhappy to find that he was not permitted on, though it looked like there was room enough. Still, he waited obediently beside the attendant's booth, and Rapunzel could see his baleful eyes even as they began to move upward.

Eugene was relieved to find that they'd been seated in one of the stationary gondolas; while he did not usually have a problem with heights, the idea of swinging back and forth one hundred and fifty feet up in the air was not appealing. Rapunzel cooed softly as Coney Island, the Bowery, and Brighton Beach began to spread out before them. Their progress upward was slow, as more passengers boarded the wheel.

It felt good to rest after so much walking, Eugene decided, though the minutes ticked away. Governor Smith was busy with his post-election tour of the city, and as Arceneau had mentioned, getting a hold of him and convincing him to come to the Duckling would be no simple task.

But then again, he was Flynn Rider. He could do anything.

"Eugene?"

Rapunzel's soft voice called him back to the small space they shared. She settled against his side, and he drew his arm around her shoulders. "Hmmm?"

"What are you going to do once you've got the Diamond?"

Eugene pursed his lips and ran his tongue over his teeth as he thought. "Well, I guess we'll sell it. Whatever the boss decides to do with it. It's not my decision." He watched her brows come together. "Why? What is it that's been eating you?"

Sucking in her breath, Rapunzel tried to articulate what had been running through her mind ever since they'd been to the Library. Even as she said it, she knew she sounded foolish, and quite possibly deranged, but she could not keep it from Eugene. He did not deserve it. "I've just got this feeling that the Diamond and I… If you read the stories, you'd see. It's supposed to have these… magical powers," she tried to smile, but she could feel him shifting uncomfortably beside her. "Like it brings good luck, and… healing. Like me. I can't help but feel like it has something to do with _me._"

Eugene was almost sorry he asked. _Almost. _He looked away from the reflection of the park lights in Rapunzel's eyes and to his palm. It was unmarked, though he remembered very well the feeling of being cut by sharp stones at Niagara Falls. She'd sung for him then, and exposed what no one else in the world-not counting her mother-knew. He had thought he was going crazy, but Rapunzel, she had been warm and real and bright that night.

He was a superstitious country boy no longer, and had been very firm in the knowledge that there was no such thing as magic, at least up until that Tuesday. Rapunzel would not have pulled that guess from thin air; she'd read all about that stone, and he was in no place to question it. He hadn't given much thought to the supernatural if he could help it, and now this slip of a girl had come along and shaken his idea of just what the world was. He'd been sure that he would die a slave to the Tatiascore, or rot away in prison, alone and without anyone to grieve for him, but Rapunzel had made everything startling and new. If he tried to deny whatever spooky strangeness that came their way, he would only lose her, and the happiness he was only just growing used to.

Eugene straightened as the gondola came close to the ground and moved back up again; the ride was nearly over, but he still had time. "Okay," he said, clearing his throat and taking both of her hands in his own.

Rapunzel's whole form sagged with relief. He seemed to understand, or, at least, was willing to try, as he continued, "So you think that his rock, this Diamond," he swallowed. "It has something to do with what you can do. Okay."

"Yes," she replied almost breathlessly. "I'm not sure just what I'll do, but maybe once we've got it, something will happen and I'll…"

He silenced her with a gentle squeeze of her fingers. His grin was cautious and crooked and warm. "Well, there's only one way to find out."

Rapunzel flung her arms about his shoulders and planted a kiss on him before he could say any more. Now it was her hesitation that seemed foolish, and any fear she had when it came to finding the Diamond, and all of the truths that might come with it, had vanished.

Eugene could hardly draw a breath to complain, but even if he could, he wouldn't. It was only when they heard the soft cough of the ride's attendant that they realized the Wonder Wheel had come to a stop, and Max, as well as the entire line of people waiting to board, were watching. There was a moment of embarrassed fumbling and apologies before they found their feet on the pavement and raced back onto Twelfth, away from prying eyes.

"Shall we?" Eugene asked, once they'd smoothed their clothes and reassembled their thoughts. They hadn't paid much attention to their aerial view of the Bowery while they had the opportunity, but it could not be helped. Rapunzel took his hand and they moved toward the bustling lane. The sun and emerging stars had vanished behind thickening cloud cover, the last red slice of daytime now obscured by the restaurants and shops that occupied the stretch between the Boardwalk and Surf Avenue. The noise was all but deafening, with street performers and hawkers all trying to draw the precious resource of attention.

It reminded Rapunzel of the bustling streets of Manhattan, tinged with the smell of saltwater. They skirted the long lines outside of clubs and small shops, and paused outside of one dark doorway that bore a sign that promised a fortune-telling monkey would reveal what lay beyond the mysterious fog of their destinies.

Despite Rapunzel's curiosity, Eugene knew that Coney Island was overpopulated with that breed of hoaxes, and while he would allow for magical girls and legendary diamonds, he had to draw the line at clairvoyant animals. Not much farther, they found themselves facing a wall of people, and the sound of Governor Smith's voice carried overhead.

"…so I would like to thank you again, my loyal constituents, and I see a bright new future ahead for all of us!"

There was a round of polite applause, and Eugene balanced on his toes to see what was happening. They'd evidently arrived at the end of the Governor's speech; the tall, pale-faced fellow handled a pair of overlarge scissors, stepping down from his makeshift podium of soapboxes, and sliced through a ribbon that had been stretched between two columns of one building's looming facade. Gleaming brass letters over the archways read "_Smith Pavilion_," and from inside the lit-up arcade came the smells of food and the sweet sound of dance music. Advertisements for the eating establishments and even a skating rink called the crowds inside, the Governor waving them on with shouts of encouragement.

The pair made no move to follow. Eugene's mind raced, trying to decide what he was going to do next. Already, he could see the Governor gesturing for the two police officers that escorted him to return to his side. If they did not hurry, they would lose their chance.

"Max," he said quickly. The white dog's ears perked up, alert, and he followed the jerk of Eugene's chin. "Help me out?"

There was hope for that dog yet. With uncanny understanding, Max bayed and dodged stragglers until leaping between the legs of the Governor himself, knocking the man off balance before his escorts could react.

Lucky for the elected official, Eugene appeared at his elbow, catching him and preventing a humiliating sprawl across the pavement.

"Careful," Eugene advised, pulling on his most disarming grin. "You'll have to forgive him. Dogs, am I right? Just so damn friendly."

Smith looked more startled than anything, trying to spot the culprit behind his near accident. Rapunzel was already calling after him, and the dog returned obediently to her side.

"Thanks," said the Governor, pulling himself free of the stranger's grip and brushing nonexistent dust from his jacket. "You know, you ought to have him on a leash."

Eugene allowed himself to laugh. "And you bet I will, sir, the finest leash that money can buy. That was a right ducky speech you gave, Al." He hadn't heard a word of it, but the Governor didn't need to know that. "Do you mind if I call you Al?"

Smith's eyes narrowed, and he glanced at his two officers. Both looked wary and puzzled as Smith asked, "Do I know you, son?"

Clearing his throat, Eugene answered, "You don't know me from Adam, but we've got a mutual acquaintance, a certain Doctor Arceneau, in Manhattan."

Eugene knew that Arceneau would not lie about knowing the Governor, but now he had to rely on Smith's memory, and learn if the good doctor's name really carried any weight. He was relieved to see that it did.

"Ah, yes," Smith said slowly, his mouth turning up at some recollection or other. "And how is the doctor?"

"He was doing just swell the last time I saw him, but why don't you come by and ask him yourself?" Eugene slipped a hand into his coat, and saw the pair of policemen stiffen. He withdrew a small business card and quirked one eyebrow as he handed it to Smith. The Governor frowned at the scribbled duck-shape on one side.

"What's this?"

"An invitation."

He knew Smith was a man who resented the law that had forced the country to go dry. That was no secret, and he planned to take advantage of it.

The Governor looked back at his escorts and moved as if to hand the card back. "That's quite all right, there's no need…"

The older man trailed off as the soft sound of singing passed between them. Rapunzel was kneeling by the columns of the Pavilion where the sliced ribbon still dangled. She was crooning along with the music that spilled out onto the Bowery as she watched them, one hand reaching down to scratch between Max's ears. Eugene grinned; no one could resist Rapunzel's voice, even if she did not know it.

"But the Duckling isn't like anywhere else, let me tell you," Eugene said, pushing the Governor's hand back. "Sure, it isn't as swanky as what you're used to, but we've got something no one else has got." He gestured to Rapunzel. "We've got heart."

Smith looked to Eugene, then back down to the card. He turned it over, exposing the address of where he'd be able to go to find the Duckling.

"Harlem?" He said dubiously, frowning.

The other man was quick to reassure. "Trust me, it's all part of the experience. We are unlike anyplace else." He leaned in to prevent the officers from hearing. "How does tomorrow night sound? The doctor will be there, and I'm sure he'll be more than happy to see you."

The Governor's hand slipped the card into his breast pocket. "Well, perhaps it couldn't hurt."

Eugene spread his hands in a shrug. "Only one way to find out."

888888888888888888888888

Appetites were alive and well after a well-earned victory. They could not afford most of the fancier establishments that lined the Bowery, and politely declined joining the Governor for dinner at Stauch's. Even if they didn't have to pay, Eugene didn't think they would be able to stomach the atmosphere for very long.

Instead, they loitered along Surf Avenue, and Eugene expounded on their success around a mouthful of Nathan's Famous.

"What a pushover," he declared, brandishing a fist at the lit-up entrance of Luna Park across the street. "That was almost too easy. We'll get Smith over on our side and we'll have at that Gala, and I'll bring you that Diamond and everything'll be Jake-"

"_Hey_," Rapunzel interrupted. Her hands were empty, and Max was licking the ends of her fingers, betraying the fate that had befallen her half-eaten hot dog. "You can't just bring it to me. I'm going with you."

Eugene's brows furrowed and he turned back to face her. "It'll be dangerous, Blondie."

Rapunzel's thoughts turned to that morning, and Hook and his dynamite. "I know," she said. The thought was less frightening and now just a little exciting. "I don't care."

Strong hands on her shoulders pulled her close. "Is that so? You think you're a regular gun moll now?"

"Yes," Rapunzel retorted, not without some small bit of pride. She was rewarded with the rumble of Eugene's low chuckle as he bent his head to kiss her, and this time it did not matter who stared.

* * *

There are so many places to go and see in 1920s New York City, like the shining lights of Broadway, the boxing matches in Madison Square Gardens, and the bohemian Greenwich Village, but including them all would threaten to overstuff the story to a degree where it might lose all of its substance.

For those of you who share my interests and are also fans of anime, I'd like to point you in the direction of _Baccano!_, a short series I watched a year or so ago, that takes place (mostly, sort of) in 1930/1931 in NYC, based on the light novels by Ryogho Narita. It is a funny show with hilarious characters, predictably overrun with gangsters and its own supernatural premise. It is also pretty violent and bloody, and not for the fainthearted.

A less gruesome recommendation would be _Bringing Up Baby, _1938, starring Cary Grant and Katherine Hepburn, if only on the note that the two protagonists sing _I Can't Give You Anything But Love _to a wayward leopard on a roof in the middle of the night. There's more to it than that, of course; Grant and Hepburn make spectacular opposites, the story is funny, and it's an all around entertaining movie, if you've got an hour and a half to spare.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

"_You know I ain't got nobody and I don't want nobody but you…_"

The clear, strong voices of a duet hung over the Duckling's crowd; Rapunzel and Stella commanded the attention of nearly everyone in the room. Or, at least, they seemed to. Though they did their best to hide it, the speakeasy's regulars were unusually tense, with one eye on the stage and the other surreptitiously glued to one of the many booths pressed against the walls.

"_I'd have my hands full of trouble if I started to double cross you…_"

The occupants of the booth, however, were not paying them much mind. Eugene would not have laid any money on the Governor when his friends had gone to meet him earlier that night, but Smith had arrived not two hours before, escorted by Tambor and Hook, looking just as surprised as the rest of the Tagnoski crew. Arceneau had been waiting to welcome him, and wasted no time in getting his old friend comfortable, or, at least, very, very drunk.

"_Ain't gonna trifle and I don't wanna trifle, it's true. I know if I start to run around, you'll start to run around too…_"

The Doctor and Governor had their arms about each other's shoulders. The former was still sober, but smiling more than usual. Eugene could see it as he followed Moose in from the sewer tunnel, hefting another delivery of booze. The larger man's eyes bulged at the sight of the official, and he mumbled, "I don' like it, Rider. Inviting the big cheese down here, he could have the pigs on us in a flash if he wanted."

Eugene grunted as he pushed his burden onto the bar top, where Elijah began to unpack long-necked bottles of gin. "Don't worry about it," he said, straightening his jacket and dusting off grime that he had somehow picked up along the way. "It's part of the job. And he's had so much to drink, I doubt he'll even remember how he got here tomorrow, much less tell the feds."

"_No sir, I ain't got nobody and I don't want nobody but you…_"

On stage, Stella and Rapunzel were arm in arm, their performance winding to an end. Eugene knew that it would be impossible to defy the effects of Rapunzel's voice, and he found his own face split into a grin as he left the bar and headed for Arceneau's table.

"_I may be friendly, but I ain't got nobody, and I don't want nobody but you!_"

Smith put up his hands at Eugene's approach. "There is my new friend," the Governor slurred cheerfully. "But don't worry, son. I forgive you for that little mishap yester-night."

Eugene removed his hat before sliding into the seat across from the other two. "I'm relieved to hear it," he said obligingly, before catching Arceneau's eye. The Doctor gave him a subtle nod of affirmation: as staunch a political figure Smith could be, he was becoming amicable after a few stiff drinks.

The singing duo made their curtseys and traipsed off stage for a well deserved break; they'd been at it almost since Rapunzel had arrived. She was pleased by her own popularity, and was all too eager to sing for people who would appreciate it, and she found herself becoming fast friends with Stella, even if the younger girl's enthusiasm could be a bit overwhelming.

"I told you that you'd be a good back up singer," Stella was saying, sticking fast to Rapunzel's side as they moved between tables and toward the booths. The band had struck up something mellow, and once again, conversation filled the empty space. "Are you coming for Thanksgiving? I could use your help. Not a lot of people come but the ones that do have high expectations."

"High expectations?" Rapunzel asked, puzzled. "I don't know. I've never really celebrated Thanksgiving."

That stopped Stella in her tracks. "Never celebrated _Thanksgiving?_" She stood in front of Rapunzel, her mouth hanging open in dismayed shock. "How?"

The blonde glanced to the side, made uneasy by the amused chuckles of people who had heard Stella's exclamation. "Well, Mother sometimes went out, but we're not from here, so I suppose she never really-"

"That doesn't matter!" Stella interjected. "Nobody is really _from _here, but we're here _now. _I always sing at Thanksgiving dinner. It's tradition. You _have _to come and sing with me."

Rapunzel found herself making another promise as they continued walking. "Okay. I'll see what I can do…"

Eugene grinned at them both as they came to a halt at his table. The Governor raised his glass. "Spectacular performance, ladies," he said, attempting to appear a little more refined, and receiving a giggle for his efforts. "Who would have suspected such talent was hiding beneath the streets of this wretched neighborhood? I bet you two have more talent in your middle fingers than any of the lounge singers you can find Uptown, let me say…"

Stella shifted uneasily. The girl averted her eyes from the men at the table, looking toward her father at the bar. He was surrounded by the Duckling's patrons, and Stella excused herself quietly. "Daddy needs my help. I'll see you."

With a frown, Rapunzel watched her go before sliding in beside Eugene. He pulled his arm around her waist, but before he could ask, Arceneau pulled the drink from Smith's hand and spoke.

"A lot of my friends are talented, Alfred. But unfortunately for them, they can't find the right place to be appreciated."

Smith watched his drink escape with an expression of abject disappointment. "Is that so?" He inquired, half interested. Eugene and Rapunzel both watched, rapt, knowing that they relied on Arceneau to bring the Tagnoski's plan to fruition. Smith would be their ticket into the Gala, but only if he could somehow be convinced.

"Yes, it is quite a predicament. Take these two, for instance," Arceneau gestured at Eugene and Rapunzel, who straightened in the face of unexpected attention. "Rider's father was a good friend of mine, until he was taken from us, bless his soul. Rider's been forced to rely on the good Christian charity of his neighbors in order to get by."

Eugene did his best to keep a straight face. The Doctor was the person he least expected to conjure such a farce, but a job was a job, and if this was the only way to win over Governor Smith, then so be it.

"It's true," he said, leaning in and hanging his head. "I can only wonder what my mother would think, knowing I was at the mercy of this city. You probably wouldn't quite understand, Governor," he nodded to Smith, who was taking turns listening and reaching for his glass. "Seeing as you live a bit higher on the food chain than the rest of us, but…" He paused for effect. "Isn't that part of what your luck, though? You've got this power, Al, to make things better for the people."

Smith had given up on trying to get his booze back from Arceneau, instead choosing to ponder the table. He looked like he was trying to muddle through what Eugene had said. Raising his chin, his eyes fell on Rapunzel. "What do you think, miss?" He asked slowly. "Do you think he's right?" The Governor grinned and shook his head. "I think you do."

Rapunzel felt bad for lying to this man, for deceiving the Tagnoski about where she had come from, and for disobeying her mother, who she had not seen for nearly a week. Eugene's strong arm around her was all that kept her grounded in the present.

"I do," she answered quietly, but her voice grew stronger as she continued. "I think anyone who is in a position to give something, anything, to make it better for anyone else… I think they ought to be able to do it. No matter what anyone else says. You've been given something good for a reason."

Eugene and Arceneau watched her with heightened brows, and Smith seemed to have been sobered by her little speech. "You sound like you speak from experience, little miss."

Almost immediately, Rapunzel looked out over the room, avoiding the Governor's gaze. She could not very well tell him she had the ability to heal people when she sang a little spell; he wouldn't believe her, or he'd find her a one way ticket to one of the many asylums that dotted Long Island. "Well, I…"

"You've got a gift of your own in that voice of yours. Certainly not something that should be hidden away." Clearing his throat, the Governor accepted his glass back from Arceneau, but did not immediately drink. "You almost remind me of someone, a performing friend of mine. She's got something like you, a little different, probably because she's older, but the same sort of way of singing that makes you forget your troubles. Miss Gothel Morse, I'm sure you've heard of her."

The bottom dropped out of Rapunzel's stomach, and she heard Eugene's breath catch. The Governor rambled on, not noticing. "She's going to be at that Winter Gala, you probably know. The one that was meant for Armistice Day, but was postponed, because, well…" He chortled and elbowed Arceneau conspiratorially, "Can't teach an old dog to stop his old tricks, they always say."

The Doctor coughed. "Do they? I think you made that one up, Alfred. But I'm glad you mentioned that Gala of yours. It's at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, isn't it?"

Smith nodded. "It's all to celebrate this Diamond they brought over from Germany. A very special little rock, though it looks like any other to me."

"Oh, but it isn't," Rapunzel interrupted. "It has the most amazing story behind it, if you just do a little research…"

Holding up his hands, Smith laughed. "Oh, no, please, I'm a man of the present, my dear! Those sorts of things have no interest for me, none at all."

Rapunzel's face fell. She couldn't imagine why some people didn't want to know everything the way she did, but then, Eugene hadn't paid much attention to what she found out about the Diamond either. At least he did not think she was a lunatic for thinking that she and the Diamond-and its convoluted past-were somehow linked.

"I'm planning to attend," Arceneau said lightly. "If it is anything like the previous years, it is supposed to be quite the affair, I should think. You were a little short handed last November."

Smith grimaced. "Was I? I don't quite remember."

"I do," Arceneau assured him. "It was a disaster. But I think I can help you, my dear friend."

"Mmmm?" The Governor had his nose in his glass again, much to the Doctor's chagrin.

"Yes, and you can help out these good people, too. As our lovely lady friend here said," he nodded to Rapunzel, who reddened. "You were given this position for a reason."

Wrinkling his nose, Smith demanded, "Then tell me, Ed, before my hair gets any whiter."

Grinning, Arceneau proposed, "Take on some of these hardworking men to serve at the Gala. They are well mannered, and possibly clean, once they put their minds to it. They could use the work and you could use the manpower."

Smith's forehead creased with thought. "I don't know, Ed. That isn't quite my area of expertise. I'd have to talk to the caterer, and see if they would need any-"

"But it's worth a shot isn't it, old chum? And if you can't find a spot for any of them in there, I'm sure they could work security, or even just dust the china for you."

The Governor's red-nosed ardor seemed to be fading, replaced by a drowsy hesitation. "I'm not sure, but I suppose for old time's sake I will see what I can do."

"That's the spirit."

Smith squinted and shuffled, pulling a pocket watch from his trousers. "Is that the time already?" He rubbed his eyes, as if hoping it would turn back the clock if he shut out the world for a few minutes. "The missus will tan my hide if I'm in later than my curfew."

Arceneau chuckled and stood to allow the Governor out of the booth, but the elected official did not seem to be able to stand on his own. The people of the Duckling covered their grins and looked away, mostly embarrassed and somewhat relieved.

"Oh dear," Smith mumbled.

"Should I call for your driver, Alfred?" Arceneau asked.

"I don't think you should," Smith groaned. "It was your boys who brought me here in the first place."

"Then it will have to be our boys who take you back. Don't worry, they are discreet."

The Governor mumbled and muttered, but relented, allowing Hook and Tambor to take his arms and hoist him out one of the Duckling's many escapes. Arceneau gave them a wink as they left and patted Smith on the back.

"Give Catherine my best, and do call me after you've thought over that offer."

"Will do, Ed. I'll be seeing you around."

Eugene and Rapunzel watched the trio go before turning back to the doctor.

"Well?" Eugene said, wondering if their attempt to fool the Governor had been successful or not. Arceneau looked as satisfied as a fat house cat when he leaned back and lit a cigar.

"He'll call."

* * *

The lyrics in the beginning of this chapter are from a song called "I Don't Want Nobody But You," performed by Cliff "Ukulele Ike" Edwards. Edwards also sang a rendition of "I Can't Give You Anything But Love" that reached the top of the charts in 1928. Famous for his jazzed-up versions of pop standards, you might know him better as Pinocchio's well dressed conscience, Jiminy Cricket.

Prior to writing this chapter, I visited Sagamore Hill, where President Theodore Roosevelt raised his family and spent the summers during his presidency. It was like stepping backwards in time; the house is still furnished as it was before his death in 1919, from the portraits on the walls to the bearskin rugs on the floor. It was a neat peek into the life and times of a spectacular figure who is famous for his passion for adventure; the American Museum of Natural History can thank him for many of their African specimens. Though he is no longer living during the Roaring Twenties, he was definitely a man of strong character that influenced the country at the turn of the century.

Alfred 'Al' Smith was an actual Governor of New York, elected on the Democratic ticket in 1922, '24, and '26, who was against Prohibition and made a number of reforms that strengthened worker's compensation, women's pension, and other labor laws that earned him a national reputation as a progressive. He was also the first Catholic to run for President of the United States, but lost soundly to Republican Herbert Hoover.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Arceneau had spoken the truth.

Rapunzel had been sketching at the table after cleaning up after lunch when Vladimir had stopped by the next day. She listened to the murmur of men's voices by the front door before Hook appeared, their guest right behind him. They both looked overwhelmingly pleased, and she could not help but grin back.

"What's the news?"

"We're in, Blondie," Hook answered, clapping Vlad on the back. "Smith called the Doc this afternoon. Looks like they could use some extra hands in the dining hall for the party. And you're looking at 'em."

Rapunzel brought her hands together with delight. "That's great," she told them. "But what happens after that?"

She remembered the boxes of dynamite; those had disappeared from the kitchen, and she did not know where they could have gone.

Hook set his good hand down on the table in an assertive slap. "A piece of cake. We go to the party, make some noise, and while the chickens are running out of the coop…" He made a fist. "We grab the Diamond. It'll be simple."

"Make noise?"

He nodded. "With those little friends of mine you saw."

Rapunzel's eyes widened in horror. "You're going to blow it up?"

Both fellows were quick to reassure her. "What? No, Blondie, you've got us all wrong!" Vlad objected.

"It'll take a lot more than what we've got to knock down the Metropolitan," Hook added. "It'll just be a distraction, doll."

"Oh," the girl said, settling back down onto her seat. She fingered the pages of that morning's paper, spread across the table like a typewritten map. "You're not going to hurt anyone are you?"

Hook and Vladimir exchanged glances. "We'll try not to, Goldie."

She had not been entirely reassured, but did not think she could say anything to discourage them. The Tagnoski were determined people, and she wanted the Diamond as badly as they did, though for very different reasons. What could she do but go along? Her brows came together as she looked down to the only article of interest, carefully plucked from the Times with all the meticulous care of a surgeon:

Across the vast deserts of Arabia, the Emperor Hamid II built Railways to connect the great cities of the Old World. From the ancient Constantinople to Yenice to Baghdad, this Baghdad Railway was perhaps one of the Last Emperor's greatest undertakings, though he did not do it without help. European investors and advisors all had a hand in the great Railway that was built to unite Arabia, though it was a venture that would be cut short by the Great War and another, solemn tragedy.

None of the Emperor's assistants were closer to him than the Coronas of the Corona German Transport Company. A happily married couple, the Coronas oversaw the construction of the Railway up until two months before the anniversary of the Emperor's ascension to the Throne. It was on this day that the Misses Corona fell gravely ill, a situation made most dire by the fact that she was about to have a child.

Out of gratitude and generosity unmatched, the Emperor pledged the legendary Diamond to the people who had done so much for him. He promised them that it would aid the sick wife, as it had shaped the destinies of many throughout millenia. However, the fate of the Coronas was not one that anyone would expect…

She'd nearly crumpled the paper and hurled it across the room when she'd finished reading. It was not like the many novels she'd read and re-read at home. There were always pages to turn, chapters to continue until everything was neatly resolved and she was satisfied by the story. No; here, she was left hanging, anticipating the next turn, and she did not like it one bit.

* * *

Tuesday morning did not bring any further satisfaction.

The Times only provided a short paragraph where the Diamond's story had normally been published:

The sad tale of the Crown Diamond is far from over, but to read the story in its entirety, and to finally reach the ending, visit the Metropolitan Museum of Art, located on the Eastern side of Central Park. Though the Diamond itself is hidden away in anticipation of its debut, more works from the that have recently been added to the Metropolitan's collection are on display to the General Public until the First of December.

Rapunzel would not be thwarted. She had invested so much of her time and curiosity that she would not give up on the end of the story. Though the Museum had a hold of the Diamond now, it had once been in the hands of these Coronas; had it helped the wife, as the Emperor had said it would? If it did, where were they now? Perhaps they would be able to help her somehow, since their fates and hers were entwined, strung together by a strange and legendary stone.

It had taken little convincing to get Eugene to take her to the Museum, though he did not seem thrilled by the prospect. She was going with or without him; Tambor and Hook had been startled by the stubbornness she had displayed when she'd told him so.

Rapunzel had been busy Monday afternoon; she felt guilty for running off with a strange woman's clothes, and berated herself for not returning Mrs. Ward's niece's outfits sooner. A shop in Brooklyn had supplied her with better-fitting replacements that were much more suited to her tastes. Not that she had paid much mind to the varying degrees of Alice blue that the unknown niece had favored, but it felt good to be back in the floral shades of pink and purple, and even a set of greens, that she had in her closet at the Ansonia.

She tried not to think to much about where home had been and what it had become, or that the days were counting down to when she would see her mother again. Gothel would be performing at the Gala that the Tagnoski were planning to rob, and she did not want to worry if her mother, among others, would be hurt in the escapade, or if she would ever be forgiven for what she was going to do.

Her mother did not have the answers she needed, and she was finally able to reach out and take them for herself. It was that mantra that she repeated to herself as she and Eugene rode the subway into Manhattan, and she said it under her breath as they stood outside of the Museum's entrance, the traffic of Fifth Avenue racing along behind them. Beyond the Museum and surrounding it on three sides would be the quieter sanctum of Central Park. Its architecture reminded her distinctly of the Ansonia, and ruefully she noted that each building was similarly dedicated to artists, though the grand hotel was a haven for musicians, and this was a museum for art that was seen, not heard.

Eugene gave Rapunzel's shoulders a squeeze as he heard her sigh; she looked taxed and tired, but he could not understand what had been wearing her out over the last few days; it certainly hadn't been anything he'd been doing. She looked up at him and gave him a wide smile that made the November chill disappear. As fatigued as she was, she was still the same insatiably inquisitive Rapunzel, and as much as he disliked Museums, he would go in as many as it took to find her answers.

It was all Rapunzel could do to keep from bolting up the steps and run through the halls until she stumbled upon the Diamond itself. Something was drawing her in, like a leash, or a song half-heard in the night.

The silence that greeted them beyond the Museum's front doors was nearly deafening, and the wide foyer was more impressive even than the Library's. There were not many visitors during the afternoon hours of a work day, though a troupe of uniformed schoolchildren did pass by, whispering and giggling at the sight of a girl with such a long braid of hair.

Admission did away with the last of Rapunzel's borrowed money, and the lizard pin sank heavily in her coat pocket. A kindly curator pointed them in the right direction on a folded paper map, and Eugene had to march in order to keep up with his girl's quick and purposeful steps.

"Where are we going, Blondie?" He asked as she lead him up the grand stairs that were just beyond the foyer.

"European Paintings," was Rapunzel's breathless answer. The corridor that was their destination was right before them when they reached the second floor, and she wasted no time in striding right in. The few people that they passed were silent or whispering, wrapped up in the Cezannes and Monets that adorned the walls. Eugene didn't know who painted what, of course, but Rapunzel had read books about the Old Masters in the long days she had spent in her tower. She was tempted to stop and study Vermeer's A Girl Asleep, and could hardly tear her eyes from Cot's The Storm; the same urgency with which the pair in the painting fled was what propelled her through the halls. She no longer followed the small map in her hand or the curator's advice, and not even Eugene's quiet calls could make her slow.

She moved through the halls of paintings, turning left and right before sliding into the corridor of European Sculpture, but she paid little mind to those. Her goal was at the end of the rectangular arrangement of rooms, and she was not disappointed by the banner that was hung across a wide and well-lit doorway: The Alsace Collection.

Beyond was a rectangular room, illuminated so that it felt much brighter and larger than any of the others they had passed through. Paintings were haphazardly arranged, varying in style and substance, dispersed between pedestals topped by statues and crockery that seemed to have nothing in common but where they had come from. Accepting another pamphlet from another curator, Rapunzel scanned the front page and learned that along with the Diamond, the precious works now in the Museum's possession had been delivered as part of reparations, paying off the debt of the Weimar Republic in the wake of the Great War.

Rapunzel thought this a curious concept as she heard Eugene finally catch up with her, resting his hands on his knees. She hadn't thought she was going that fast-perhaps he was just exaggerating.

"Are we stopping?" He asked, glancing at the uniformed security that eyed them from across the room. Rapunzel did not answer. She was buried nose-deep in her pamphlet, green eyes flying across the trifold pages as she found the end of her story at last.

The first handful of paragraphs repeated what she had already read in the Times. A legendary stone and the rise of an Emperor, followed by the construction of the Baghdad Railway, an undertaking of historic proportions. At last, she found mention of the Corona family, and how the Diamond had come into their possession in the summer of 1908. The Emperor had promised them a miracle…

And a miracle they had received. According to the pamphlet, the Coronas had returned to Germany, and the wife had returned to the peak of health in order to give birth to a daughter. Whether or not the Diamond was to be credited was anyone's guess, but everyone loved a mystery.

Philanthropy and business called the happy couple away from home, and they were forced to leave their child behind. It would be a cruel twist of fate that an earthquake would tear through the port city of Messina, where the Coronas were to depart for the Ottoman Empire once more. It had been a tragic December morning for many, and their bodies were never found, buried beneath rubble or swept out to sea.

Rapunzel's breath caught, and she felt as if something had pulled the floor from beneath her feet. She had reached a dead end. The Coronas, whoever they had been, champions of railways and a transportation company, had been dead for eighteen years. Even if they had answers, she would never be able to ask them her questions.

"Are you okay, Blondie?"

Eugene brought her back to Earth, to the bright room in the Metropolitan. She hadn't realized how still she had been standing until she felt her shoulders loosen and sag.

"I'm fine," She began to say, but stopped. Even if they could not help her now, Rapunzel would read the end of the Corona's story. It didn't seem right to forget about them.

She turned to the back of the pamphlet, and read on.

There had been an international outcry of dismay at the deaths of the Coronas. Naturally their daughter, though only four months old, would inherit their grand estate in Germany, and all of their investments abroad. However, while family friends and lawyers were still reeling from the death of the Coronas, their daughter had disappeared.

A hunt had been called as they feared the worst; a kidnapper, set to take advantage of the estate's vulnerability, demanding wealth in exchange for the Corona girl's life. But no ransom notes came, and not a trace of her was to be found. It was as if she had never been.

Suspicion and war had ensnared the Corona estate not long after that. Fearing alliances between the German banks that had built the railroads and the Ottoman ruler who had let them, international powers had seized assets and frozen funds. The Diamond itself, locked safely away and nearly forgotten in a deposit box in Berlin, would eventually be returned to the Ottoman Empire, though the last Emperor had passed a year after his dearly departed friends. His will was that the lost child of the Coronas be found, and the Diamond remain with her as a blessing in an otherwise tragic life, but his successors and advisors did not feel the same.

Taking a moment to think, Rapunzel was not sure if she would be able to continue reading. Disappearances, death, and politics; it was far outside her realm of novels. Eugene watched her as she rubbed her eyes and continued reading, determined as ever to find out how the Diamond had found its way to the very Museum she was standing in.

The Ottoman Empire had finally come to an end, but this she had learned while in the Library the week before. With its collapse, the pamphlet read, the Diamond had been returned to Germany and to the Corona estate. War, however, had made the country weak, and the Treaty of Versailles demanded much of the people. Priceless as it was, with no one present to inherit, the government of Germany was forced to auction the Crown Diamond of the East off to the highest bidder, in the hopes of freeing themselves from a debt that would be impossible to repay.

The paragraph dwindled into useless questions regarding the ultimate fates of the Coronas and their missing daughter, but Rapunzel did not care. Her whole frame felt numb, as if all of her studying and speculation had been for nothing.

"Rapunzel?"

She looked up into Eugene's face; she hadn't realized he'd pulled her into his arms, holding her up as she tried to figure out what to do next.

"It's no use," Rapunzel said into the top unbuttoned hole of his shirt. "Anyone who could have helped me are long gone."

Eugene gave her a reassuring squeeze, ignoring stares as he told her, "Maybe…" But she could tell he was even more uncertain than she was. He did not have as much at stake. "Maybe there's still somebody who knows, who you can talk to…"

Rapunzel shook her head weakly. "I'll just have to wait until the Gala. Maybe when we get it…"

The Gala. When she would finally have to face what she had done to her mother. She would have to see the hurt and betrayal in the eyes of someone who loved her and did not deserve it. She would not let Eugene or the Tagnoski try to fetch the Diamond without her, but at the same time, Rapunzel did not think she would be able to stand the consequences of her actions.

"Or maybe we don't have to wait," she said suddenly, slipping out of Eugene's grasp.

"What?" He asked, puzzled by the nearly alien expression that passed over Rapunzel's face.

Tucking the pamphlet into her coat pocket, Rapunzel was glancing around the room, as if looking for another door beside the one they had entered through, but there were none. To his immense alarm, she strode right up to the curator that was tending to the lone exhibit, and asked, "Excuse me, do you know where you keep items that aren't on display?"

The curator, a red-haired and freckle-faced man nearing his forties, looked taken aback by her bluntness. "The basement," he stammered, then looked sheepish. "Of course, we keep plenty of things in the basement, but there are still more articles that are kept by private donors off of the premises."

"I see," Rapunzel said absently. "Thank you."

Concerned, Eugene followed Rapunzel as she began to walk through the halls that had brought them to the Alsace room. "What are you doing?" He demanded in a hushed tone.

"Following my instincts," Rapunzel replied just as quietly, and picked up the pace, returning to the stairs that would take them down to the foyer.

Rapunzel had hardly even known she possessed instincts before this moment. But the same feeling that had drawn her into the Museum, that tugged at her limbs and made her feel sleepy and sluggish, had returned to the forefront of her mind, urging her descent and rushed strides through the hall of Medieval Art and into the American Wing. She slowed whenever they passed security, or large groups of guests, but she again ignored Eugene's fervent questioning.

The tugging at her feet did not stop until she stood before an airy, fantastical landscape. Water spilled over from the rim of an enormous goblet, raining on lush hills and a city far below. Beneath the frame, a small plaque read, The Titan's Goblet, Cole, 1833. While she gasped at the wideness of the world that the relatively small canvas depicted, she knew it was not what she was after. Peeking over her shoulder to see that no one but Eugene was watching, she edged around the wall that bore The Titan's Goblet, and found a slender door waiting.

It was tucked into the corner in such a way that no one would notice it from the room's entrance. It was a door of convenience, but had the distinct air of something off limits. As Rapunzel took a step near it, Eugene paused her with a hiss.

"Rapunzel," he said. "You do realize we're not exactly equipped to rob a Museum in broad daylight."

She grinned at him. "What's wrong? Worried?"

He looked affronted. "No, I just… Just…" He looked back, imitating her, then motioned for her to try the door. "Do we have a choice?"

Rapunzel did not want to bring dynamite to the Museum and endanger people, no matter how great the need. If they could slip into the basement, and she could follow whatever force was guiding her down to the Diamond, she would have her answers, and no one would be harmed in the process. Of course, the likelihood of the doors that lead to the bowels of the Metropolitan being unlocked were a hundred to one…

Lo, it seemed that the Diamond could work miracles.

Or a Museum employee had been devastatingly careless. After the slightest of squeaks, the door gave beneath her palm, revealing a yawning, narrow corridor. With Eugene grimacing behind her, Rapunzel took a careful step inside, and listened.

No one came after them, and no one seemed headed their way down this particular path. Rapunzel needed to find a way down, and frowning, she nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of Eugene closing the door softly behind them.

He chuckled at her reaction. "Do you want to go back? There's still time."

Rapunzel inhaled, then shook her head. "No. There is never enough time, and I can't really go back."

She wasn't sure where those words came from, but did not have time to ponder them as Eugene snatched her into a strong, one-armed hug. She was surprised and pleased by the fierce kiss he planted on her lips, but as quickly as it had come, it was over. He smirked. "Lead the way."

Eugene didn't know whether to be proud or ashamed to himself, knowing that it was likely his fault that Rapunzel had turned into a reckless, rule-breaking bearcat. Not that he could complain, either, watching as she moved forward with sure steps. She had changed much from the jumpy, nervous girl that had tied him up in her mother's penthouse apartment, and was now someone braver, tougher, and far from anything than he had ever expected.

Voices creeping up the halls urged them into a small alcove, half cast in shadow by burnt-out lights. Rapunzel squeaked; it was only Eugene's reflexes that caught her outstretched arm and kept her from tumbling down the curved stairs that had appeared before them.

Rapunzel hadn't expected it to be this dark, but with Eugene's steadying presence, she carefully made her way down the steps and to the Museum's basement level. The halls here were not as well lit as those above, but they were lined with offices and alcoves that looked right at home beneath the Metropolitan.

Rapunzel could feel the pull stronger now, as though it pushed a hand right through her ribcage and tugged at her own heart. She gripped Eugene's hand, pulling him through passages and past dead ends until they halted before one nondescript door.

The numbness that had taken Rapunzel earlier now returned, though it was fueled by excitement, not disappointment.

"Through here?"

Eugene didn't know just what it was that had guided Rapunzel on this haywire scramble below the ground, but she had seemed very aware of where she was going, and now they were here. Eagerly, she reached out and took the handle, and turned.

It wouldn't budge.

It was like the harsh sound of glass shattering. Rapunzel knew it would have been ridiculous to assume their good luck would continue. Doors down here were the only barriers between them and magnificent pieces of treasure; of course they would be more cautiously treated than those above.

The dismay ran over her like a cold, sticky tide. Eugene watched her lean forward, and flinched at the soft thump of her forehead against the door's thick wood. Her heavy sigh seemed to reach him in his bones.

It had been too easy. Unless.

"Blondie, do you have any hair pins?"

Rapunzel peeled one eye open and looked at him balefully. "What?"

"Hair pins. Do you have any? I only need two."

Rapunzel straightened and reached into the long braid that fell down her back. A girl did not live with ten feet of hair without learning a few tricks about how to make it behave, and in a flash, she pinched two such pins between her fingers.

Eugene grinned and took them, crouching beside the door and proceeding to make a show of scratching and fiddling. Rapunzel tried to peer and see what he was doing, but whenever she did, he muttered that she was in his light.

She did not know how much time passed; the sound of Eugene's lock picking faded, and instead her ears strained for the sound of anyone approaching. To be caught would certainly land them in jail, and that would kill her. Not when they were so close.

With a small sound of triumph, Eugene stood, and motioned to the doorknob. Hesitantly, Rapunzel gave it a twist, and gasped with delight as the door slid away.

"You're going to show me how to do that, right?"

He only chuckled, tucking her pins into his pants pocket. Rapunzel eased the door open, revealing a room that seemed to be darker than the staircase. Boxy, stiff shapes lined the walls, and the bare outline of a ceiling lamp proved to be the only source of illumination. It was easy to find the switch beside the door, and in the wake of a white-hot brilliance, the pair discovered they were in a room filled to ceiling with safes.

Eugene groaned. Doors he could manage, but he'd never had to crack a safe before.

"Blondie, I think we should give it up for now. We've been here long enough…"

Rapunzel wasn't listening. Her shoes barely made a sound against the carpet as she stepped around the clean table that took up the center of the room, running her fingers over the fronts of the safes she strode past. She did not hear Eugene's voice as he urged her to leave, to respond, to do anything; her ears were filled with a somber song. The tugging was at once overwhelming and relieved as she slowed, and finally stopped, her hand pressed against a small vault about shoulder height.

The song intensified, and with it, a light that seemed to be fighting to escape the edges of the safe's door. Something pulled her in, made the blood rush through her ears, and had her transfixed to the floors. She was deaf to Eugene's shouts of panic and horror, and did not feel his hands as he tried to pull her free.

Eugene knew that whatever had beckoned Rapunzel here was inside that safe. A crackling pressed at his ear drums, as obnoxious as a cloud of gnats in summer, but he paid it no attention. Only when did Rapunzel stop her pacing did he realize that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

She was pale, as if she'd been frightened, or hurt.

"Goldie," Eugene began, taking a step farther into the room. "I think it's time to go."

The hue of her outfit seemed to be fading, but he dismissed it as a trick of the light. But then the room seemed to become dimmer.

"Rapunzel. I think we should just wait. We need to go."

Still, no response. The lamp above fizzled and cracked, until the only light was hot wire. Shadows seemed to press in on all sides, threatening to swallow Rapunzel whole. They creeped up her legs and arms and over her head, draining her of color, until even the gold of her hair was gone.

"Rapunzel!"

A soft cry escaped her lips as the spellbound girl was released. Her hand became unstuck and her legs turned to jelly. As the world dove into black, she could only be relieved that Eugene was there to catch her as she fell.

* * *

While writing this chapter, I tried to look up what paintings were actually located in the Museum during this time, and of the ones I could find, The Storm by Pierre-Auguste Cot has to be one of my favorites for a number of reasons; alongside with Cot's piece Spring featuring the same couple on a swing, it is a set of paintings that makes my heart wrench with delight. The Titan's Goblet by Thomas Cole is another, rife with symbolism and poetic allegory.

Not only are there many magnificent things to see in Jazz Age New York, there are also so many ideas and social constructions that I am sorry to leave out. The zeitgeist of the era is fascinating and multi-faceted, especially when you take in the global scale: the rearranging of maps after the Great War, the chaos of the October Revolution that brought the Bolsheviks to power and gave birth to the Soviet Union, and not to mention the resentment stirring in the Weimar Republic that would eventually stoke the fires of the second World War. It was a decade of extremism and revolution abroad and at home: women could now vote and exercise more freedom than ever before, Prohibition and laws restricting immigration were a source of contention throughout the United States, and a mass exodus of such prestigious authors as Fitzgerald and Steinbeck would earn them the nickname the Lost Generation.

I have learned the dangers of overcomplicating and overstuffing for the sake of immersion, and I think I have struck a balance here. On the one hand, I have referenced real events and real people, though I do not have the time or skill to do history justice, as fascinating as I find it. And on the other, this is not a tale about any of those things, not really. That is one of the spectacular qualities of these old _Marchen_: they can be adapted to different settings and still retain their integrity and be recognized for what they are. This is not a story about Communism or mobsters or war or social innovation. This is the story of a girl named Rapunzel.

My author's notes are long winded and not entirely required to be read, but over the course of this project I have learned a lot and I like to share what I find: I plucked the name Alsace from a region in France that had historical significance during the Great War; it had been a source of contention between Germany and France since the nineteenth century, and was given to France as a part of the Treaty of Versailles (though Germany regained control in 1940, it was once again under a French flag by the end of World War II.) Currently, it is a unique territory of France, a historic melding of French and German culture.

While the construction of Corona in Tangled is based on several different kinds of architecture from different centuries and places around Europe, pictures I found of places around Alsace (namely Colmar) reminded me of that island-bound city. Rapunzel as it is popularized by the Grimm Brothers, is a story of German origin. However, in my head, I can't shake loose the idea that Corona would be where the French monastery of Mont St. Michel is. So, in conclusion, the name Alsace is a symbol under which I can hang many ideas and notions, though the significance is not really all that important to anyone else but me.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Rapunzel awoke from the murky cocoon of sleep feeling more rested than she ever had in her life.

Still, she thought she could continue to while the hours away, pressed into the pillows, surrounded by warmth, without a care. Her troubles forgotten, and future worries absent in her dreams.

But there were things that occupied the waking world that were conspicuously absent in unconsciousness. Rapunzel opened stubborn eyelids and squinted at the white wall before her, flexing her fingers beneath the covers. Her palms felt dry, and her limbs were heavy as she rolled over to face the sound of someone else's breathing. She found Eugene slouched uncomfortably in a chair that belonged in Hook and Tambor's sitting room, his face looking cross despite his slumber. Through the window, the light and sound of late-morning Brooklyn fell over the newspaper that rested in his lap.

He stirred as Rapunzel sat up, blinking slowly. He was on his feet and beside her in an instant, the newspaper sliding to the floor as he took her hand.

"You're awake." Eugene tried not to sound as relieved as he felt, but it must have slipped through. Rapunzel's brow knitted in puzzlement.

"Yeah," she said, moving the blankets aside and swinging her legs over the edge of the mattress. The details of her most recent memories were coming back through a molasses of confusion. She recalled the Metropolitan, and wandering through the basement, called by some otherworldly song. "How long was I…"

Rapunzel's words caught in her throat as her feet touched the floor and a dark tendril brushed across her toes. She reached out a hand to catch it without thinking, but as the soft fineness trickled through her fingers, she realized that she was clutching a handful of her own hair; what had once been bright and golden was now a dark and modest brown.

"What…" She considered for a moment that she was still dreaming, but the cold wood on her heels and Eugene's hand on her shoulder were very, very real. "What happened?"

Her beau's arms steadied her as he explained what she could barely remember. After her fit beneath the Metropolitan, he'd had no choice but to carry her out and hope that security would not run into them anytime soon. He'd emerged back upstairs, wondering just how he was going to explain why he had an unconscious girl in his arms, and found the entire Museum empty and shrouded in darkness. The power had gone out on the blocks surrounding the building, and no one had noticed his hasty exit.

"I called the Doc," Eugene said, watching Rapunzel perch on the bed, running her hair over her palms without actually seeing it. He shoved his own hands in his pockets, feeling at once glad that Rapunzel had recovered, and at the same time, unnerved at the scope of his own fear for her. "He said that you were fine, just that you needed to rest. He couldn't explain why…"

He swallowed, and nodded. Rapunzel wasn't listening, instead thinking back to those few moments in the basement of the Metropolitan, when they'd finally found the Diamond, securely locked in a safe that they did not have the knowledge or time to crack. That hadn't stopped her from putting her hands against the metal, feeling the mysterious pull within.

The contact had been electric. She couldn't move, and almost didn't want to. The oddness that could only have been the Diamond-she instinctively knew that was what it _had _to be-seemed to be drawing strength right out of her, a flood of heat and energy, until she had finally collapsed.

Now, though, Rapunzel felt fine, other than the strange shock of her new hair color. She had heard tell of people whose hair had gone white from a bad scare, but never brown. She did not understand, and didn't think she ever would, since the only people who could have explained the mysteries of the Diamond to her, the Coronas, were long gone.

She glanced up, noticing that Eugene watched her warily. His entire frame seemed abuzz with nervousness, as though he expected her to collapse again. That irked her some; she was _fine _now, and didn't need constant hovering.

"What about the Diamond?" She asked, making sure her tone was firm, evidence of her health.

Eugene stooped to pick up the newspaper from where it had fallen. He offered it to her, tapping a story on the front page. "_Failed robbery spurs security to seek new safes_," he said, mimicking the title of the article. "They knew someone had been there, so they moved a lot of things, including the Diamond. We won't know where it is until the day of the Gala."

He smiled apologetically at her, and Rapunzel was immediately ashamed of her previous irritation. It had been her idea to try and steal the Diamond out of the Metropolitan, hoping to save herself and the Tagnoski a lot of trouble, but she'd only ended up making things more difficult. She opened her mouth to tell him not to blame himself when her eyes fell on the date at the top of the paper.

"_Thursday_?" She gasped. They had gone to the Museum on Tuesday, the twenty third, and the day's date blared like a trumpet. "The twenty fifth. I've been asleep…"

Eugene's arms were around her shoulders, and she found her face pressed into his chest. The tightness of his embrace was hint enough at how badly he'd needed to hold her, and she wrapped her arms around him with equal fierceness. She'd been asleep for more than an entire day, no doubt he had worried. She could tell by the smell of tobacco that clung to his clothes. He would not allow it to show in his voice when he finally pulled away and asked, "Are you hungry?"

Rapunzel could only manage a nod. She felt a yawning emptiness inside and reckoned that she was most definitely starving. The moment Eugene opened the bedroom door, she braced herself for the tackle of a flash of white fur. Maximus jumped and barked and slobbered on everything he could reach, evidently relieved to see her up and moving.

He followed them down the stairs and to the dining room. As soon as they sat, Rapunzel began to scratch him vigorously between the ears.

"Where are Mister Tambor and Mister Hook?" She asked, not hearing the usual sounds of he much larger men moving about the house.

"They went to the Duckling this morning," Eugene answered. In the center of the table, a bowl of clementines beckoned like round, orange jewels. He pulled a knife from the table setting and picked up one of the fruits. "Since it's Thanksgiving. They wanted to stay, you know, and look after you, but Moose and Elijah needed the extra hands. We can go meet them later, if you feel like it."

Rapunzel had paused her ministrations to work her hair into its customary braid and push it behind her back, out of sight and out of mind. She smiled at Eugene, reminding herself as much as him, "I already promised Stella that I would."

Eugene was about to say that she didn't have to keep _every _promise that she made, but decided better of it. It was probably not something she would want to hear from _him_, of all people, and he could not bring himself to despoil her sense of honesty. At least, not any more than he already had. His soft chuckle slid into a hiss of pain as the distracted blade bit into his hand, opening a shallow gash nearly identical to the one he'd gotten at the Falls. He swallowed a curse and clenched his fist, looking for something to keep himself from bleeding on the rug.

Slender fingers took a hold of him, firm, but gentle. Rapunzel's gaze was intent on his hand, but she touched him with the ease of someone who had done this many times before.

Though nothing terrible had happened when she'd healed him at the Falls, and he'd assured Rapunzel that he wasn't frightened of her unnatural gift, he could not help but hold his breath as she began to sing.

"_Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine, make the clock reverse…_"

Maximus looked on, same has he had at the falls. Eugene did not look; Rapunzel's eyes were closed in concentration. But something sounded different; her voice did not quite have the ethereal quality it had before.

"_Bring back what once was mine…_"

Blood welled up along Eugene's cut, following the lines of his palm and dripping onto Rapunzel's skirt. He shifted uncomfortably, but Rapunzel would not allow herself to be interrupted.

"_Heal what has been hurt, change the fate's design…_"

Rapunzel did not feel right. Maybe it was her hunger, or she was out of practice, but she did not feel the same tingling sensation that usually accompanied her spell. She nearly opened one eye to peek, but steeled herself and kept singing.

"_Save what has been lost, bring back what once was mine…_" Droplets on her lap finally made her look, and she found herself struggling with confusion and a creeping sense of dismay.

Eugene began to pull his hand away. "It's fine, I can just-"

"No, wait," Rapunzel said quickly. "I just needed to warm up, that's all…" Sitting up straight and clearing her throat, she started again.

"_Flower gleam and glow, let your power shine…_"

Eugene swallowed. His cut was beginning to sting, and the mysterious aura that had come before was now absent. He did not see his flesh writhe back together to make itself new, and he heard Rapunzel's voice waver.

She knew something was wrong now. She sang it just as she had her entire life, but the light did not well up inside her and burn behind her eyes. It did not pour from her fingertips and into the hand she held. She did not make it to the final line of the song before her breath caught and she could sing no more.

"I don't understand," Rapunzel stammered. Gently, Eugene pulled his hand away, and she stared at the few drops of his blood that had fallen on her knees. "I sang it the right way. It should have worked, it should have fixed…"

"You're tired," Eugene said, halting her tumble of words and trying to smile encouragingly. The devastation in her expression when she looked up at him made his heart wrench.

It was nothing like the frustration that came when she couldn't draw a figure, or when she came across a word in a book that she did not understand. This was something much worse, and the yawning ache at the pit of her stomach threatened to consume her. Rapunzel's gift, as strange and as secret as it was, was all that she had of her own. She had only just begun to discover what it meant, and now, amidst everything she was learning and finding and making her own, it was gone.

Brown hair was something to be accustomed to, but the magic was what she was. It had been her anchor and her obligation. She wanted to run to her mother, to ask her what she should do, if it would ever return…

A chill of fear ran up Rapunzel's spine. It was her mother that relied on her magic the most. It was her magic that kept her mother happy despite all the demands of her life. She had betrayed her mother already by running away, but she could not dare to think about the disappointment her mother would feel when she learned that Rapunzel's only responsibility had disappeared through her daughter's recklessness.

The girl covered her eyes in anguish as Eugene looked on. He had watched the thoughts play out across her face, and could offer nothing else to reassure her but an arm about her shoulder, his other hand held out of the way. Max, moved to action by his canine intuition, leaned against her leg, solid and cheering.

Rapunzel did not cry, as much as she wanted to. Her dismay and fright would do nothing; she would only have to wait. Getting a hold of the Diamond was now more important than ever; if it could take away her abilities (and she was more than certain that was what had happened beneath the Metropolitan) it could surely give them back. Inhaling, she pressed her forehead briefly against Eugene's heartbeat before stepping back.

"Do you know where there are any bandages?" She asked, and Eugene led her to the kitchen. Rapunzel's silent ministrations were the only window to her inner turmoil.

When his hand was sufficiently cleaned and wrapped, Eugene finally broke the quiet. Pulling Rapunzel's braid over her shoulder and running his thumb over the brown, interlaced locks, he said, "Did I ever tell you I have a thing for brunettes?"

Rapunzel made a face, and he laughed. She didn't look right with a scowl. He'd had a day's head start on getting used to her new hair color, worrying and watching her sleep, but already it seemed more natural. The pink had returned to her cheeks, and the dark frame made her eyes all the brighter.

"I should probably change out of this," Rapunzel told him, fingering her spattered skirt. "And wash it off. I don't want it to stain."

"Sure," Eugene leaned down to press his lips against her forehead. "And then we can head out. If you still want to."

Rapunzel nodded, eyeing the bandages on Eugene's hand. She'd never had to perform real first aid before, and though they'd cleaned it out, she still wondered if there was risk of infection, or if he would scar, or hurt himself further. She realized how much she _hadn't _had to worried about before, and those thoughts weighed her down as she trudged slowly up the stairs.

* * *

Rapunzel's changed appearance was a hit down at the Duckling. She'd been suddenly self conscious as they'd arrived in Harlem, perched before the storm door that would take them down to the speakeasy's subterranean splendor. Eugene had given her a reassuring grin and squeeze her hand. The Duckling was as noisy as ever, though she barely recognized the shift from its usual nightclub décor. All of the tables had been pushed together in the center of the room to make one long, mostly even surface, with a wine-colored tablecloth over the top. It was surrounded by a flurry of activity as Tagnoski thugs and speakeasy patrons ran back and forth, setting down silverware and lighting candles and doing their best not to plow into each other. Rapunzel recognized a few faces, and knew that not all of the regulars would be there, only the ones that had no where else to be that night. Directing them with loud enthusiasm and armed with a rolled-up newspaper was Stella, who was the first to notice their arrival and quick to draft them to her cause.

"About time you got here! You feeling better, Punzie?" Without waiting for an answer, Stella gave Eugene a shove back towards the door. "You. Go help Moose and Daddy and the rest with the food upstairs. Punzie, I have something special for you."

As Eugene made tracks, Stella pulled Rapunzel past the table and towards the stage, where Hook made a conspicuous effort of tuning his piano. Stella plucked up the sheets of music he was studying and offered them to Rapunzel. The older girl could see words between the drawn-in notes, written in a child's cramped, messy hand.

"How good are you at memorizing songs?" Stella demanded.

"Um," Rapunzel started, unsure of what sort of answer Stella was looking for. "I'm alright. I need to hear them a couple of times before I-"

"Well, we don't got time for that," Stella said. "I wrote this for you. I had an installation."

Rapunzel blanched. "I think you mean _inspiration._"

Stella gestured wildly, the papers rustling in her grip. "Yeah, that. But you and Hooky here are gonna be my warm up act tonight, okay?"

Rapunzel nodded, caught between a smile and a sigh. She loved to sing, especially for the people at the Duckling, who enjoyed it as much as she did. But the bit of magic that always accompanied her voice was gone; if she sang tonight, would they notice?

She was unable to refuse as Stella began to step off the stage, yelling at Tambor, who had nearly stumbled and sent his stack of china plates crashing to the floor. Before she settled into her tirade, though, she glanced over her shoulder and said, "I like what you did with your hair, Punzie. We'll make something out of you yet."

That didn't do much to quell the butterflies in Rapunzel's stomach, but she turned dutifully to Hook, who seemed relieved to see her, and they went over the music that they had been tasked to perform.

Not a half an hour later they were ushered to the table, standing behind their chairs as Mr. Tagnoski shuffled in, escorted by the ever silent Ulf. He took his place at the head of the table, though not without a bit of a boost. When he sat, so did everyone else; Rapunzel found Hook on her left and Eugene on her right, with Elijah and Stella right across. Compulsively, she looked at Eugene's bandages, and with a quiet laugh, he told her it was fine.

Somewhat satisfied, Rapunzel studied the feast that occupied the space before them. It looked more astonishing and scrumptious than anything she had eaten before, no matter how talented the chefs at the Ansonia could claim to be. One turkey squatted in the center of the table, flanked by two roasted geese. An overabundance of mashed potatoes filled the spaces between platters of vegetables and savory pies, and there was the promise of cakes and sweets for dessert. As her gaze swept the table and her mouth watered, she noticed one person was missing.

"Where is Doctor Arceneau?" She asked Eugene, leaning in and whispering. The table had fallen quiet, everyone else's eyes on Mr. Tagnoski.

"Vlad said he called and couldn't make it," Eugene answered with a shrug. "Shame, but he's a popular guy, I guess."

A cough brought their attention back to the mob boss at their head, who stood in his chair to speak.

"Friends," he began, his Polish accent thick but not impossible to understand. "Old friends, and new ones. I am pleased that you could be here with us today, to celebrate with us this day of thanks." He cleared his throat. "Still, there are others that do not join us, though we keep them in our hearts."

Eugene knew it was directed at himself, invoking his father, though not by name. He was the only one at the table who felt shame at the memory of the elder Fitzherbert, and the betrayal that the other Tagnoski were ignorant of. He did not meet the old man's eye.

Mr. Tagnoski continued. "We are blessed with many things. We are prosperous, our children are healthy, and there is love blooming among us."

It was Rapunzel's turn to look away, though this time it was with embarrassment as a round of well-meaning snickers made their way down the table. Mr. Tagnoski silenced them with a wave of his hand. "I am told that this beautiful flower of ours has been chosen to sing for us," he said, looking to Rapunzel, who nodded.

"Please, then, _kochanie_, stoke the fires of our appetites with a song."

Stella nodded encouragingly from across the table, and Rapunzel stood, Hook not far behind. She did not feel nervous until they reached the stage, and she faced the room full of expectant faces. It felt the same as her first night at the Duckling, as her audience waited to see what she could do.

Hook plucked the first few notes experimentally, then ran through them again. Rapunzel breathed in the smell of dinner, and felt the warmth reach through her limbs and past the aching loss of her magic, and opened her mouth to sing.

"_We haven't had much time together, baby. Some day you will tire of me, maybe._"

She panicked, briefly, worried that she'd fudged the words that Stella had so carefully chosen, but the girl was grinning, proud as a parent at a recital.

"_But for now I've got to say, now that we've come all this way, all we've ever wanted, we could be._"

Hook played off the end of the stanza with a flourish, and Rapunzel slid into the chorus with confidence.

"_You've shown me how everything isn't always what it seems. We can make our own way with the warmth of bright new dreams._"

Rapunzel dared to glance at Eugene as the second stanza began. He smiled with the rest, but he watched her with a much different look on his face.

"_Now tell me baby, just what I have to do… We kept everybody guessing, what with all that we've been through. Love's the adventure that we're facing, and I find my heart's been racing…_"

He had been the only one that knew her secret, and shared her loss. Eugene had cared for her before, and she knew more than ever, that he still cared for now.

"_Now that I've been tangled up in you._"

Her voice and the sound of Hook's piano faded, and applause erupted in their place. Rapunzel's hand flew to her throat in relief as a few of their onlookers even stood, Eugene among them. With quaking knees, she returned to the table. She'd sung it right, she knew, even if she didn't have the magic anymore.

Eugene picked her up with one arm around her waist as the rest of the Tagnoski congratulated her. Stella nodded knowingly.

"Not bad for a warm up act," she said, eyes gleaming, and pushing her own seat back from the table. "Now it's _my _turn."

Stella would not get her chance. Quite suddenly, several thing happened at once.

The door leading in from the tunnels burst from its hinges, allowing two hulking figures inside. The rattle of gunfire came over the heads of the speakeasies' patrons, prompting screams of terror. Someone pushed one of the tables, and the entire affair went crashing down in a flood of chopped carrots, glazed birds, and wine bottles. There was a pounding on the storm door that only added to the tumultuous din.

Ulf and Vlad scooped up Mr. Tagnoski, running for the bar. Bullets followed them, shattering glass and sending bootlegged booze cascading to the floor. Patrons ran after them and to the other doors, shouting and ducking and looking for freedom. Still, the invaders kept shooting.

Eugene and Rapunzel huddled alongside Hook on the other side of the fallen tables.

"Who the _hell _are they?" Hook bellowed.

Eugene felt numb with dread. He had a feeling he knew. His heart pounded along with the thundering at the outside doors as he peeked carefully over their modest shelter.

He recognized every detail of the Stabbingtons' neatly tailored suits, the wretched grins on their crooked, scarred faces. The Tommy guns they clutched were new, though, though they fired on the room with ease.

Wood splintered, curtains were torn, and shattered glass made a deadly rain.

Rapunzel was more terrified than she had ever been before. She had never heard gunfire before, and the sound tore at her ears and erased her thoughts. Eugene's hands on her shoulders urged her toward Hook.

"Get her out of here!" He commanded. Hook nodded, pushing Rapunzel ahead of him.

"Eugene!" She reached back, but he was already crawling away. Tambor crouched, a pistol in hand, but he couldn't find a moment to fire back to the Stabbingtons. Beside him, Stella wailed.

Eugene's mind was racing a mile a minute. How had the Stabbingtons found the Duckling? He'd never told Tatiascore where it was. Had they followed him, somehow? Had they known all along?

Whatever the case, he knew that it was his fault that this was happening.

Stella's sobbing rubbed on his already raw nerves, but as he neared, he saw why she cried. Elijah, his front a dark, sticky mess of blood, was splayed out on the other side of Tambor, who motioned him away.

"Take the kid and get out of here! Where's Blondie?"

The tables withstood the abuse of gunfire most impressively. From the stage came shots; Eugene craned his neck around to see Moose huddled behind the standing piano, letting loose his own retaliation. When the Stabbingtons' attention shifted, Eugene answered.

"She's fine! You take Stella!" He reached for Tambor's revolver. "Let me take care of it!"

Tambor did not argue, hoisting Stella under one arm and making for the bar. Her screams of anguish burned in Eugene's ears as he sat with his back against the bottom of the table.

He had never shot at anyone, or even handled a loaded gun before in his life. There was never any need. With all the clumsiness of a man in unfamiliar peril, he threw his arm up and let out three blind shots.

He'd done nothing but strike the ceiling, sending bits of concrete dust showering down on the room. But the Stabbingtons returned fire, and he moved away from his position. He no longer heard Moose on stage, and feared that the restaurant owner had gone the way of the Tagnoski's loyal bartend. Risking a glance, he saw that Moose was still alive. He must have run out of bullets.

Eugene was useless with a gun. Panting, he looked for anything else he might use as a weapon, and his foot nudged a hard, hot shape. Though his left hand stung from its earlier injury, he did not hesitate as he lifted himself onto his knees and hurled the baked potato straight at their unwelcome guests.

The spud struck home, splattering across Ron's face. He stumbled back and his gun sprayed bullets along one wall, knocking out the lights and sending the room into darkness.

But light poured in once more as the storm doors finally gave. A rush of men came tumbling into the room, moonlight glistening off of their police badges and helmets. To Eugene's shock, he saw Captain Tannenbaum had led the charge.

Behind the counter, tucked under the shelves that had once been weighted down with liquor, was another way down into the sewers. Hook had dragged Rapunzel away from the firefight, despite her shouting.

"Eugene! No! I can't-"

"Don't be crazy!" Hook had howled back, forcing her to run beside him and down a narrow incline. The walls here were rough hewn and dirty in the dim light from the tunnels below. The smell was overwhelming, and Rapunzel nearly gagged as she inhaled, trying to combat the stitch in her side. Ulf was waiting for them at the mouth of the passage.

"Where's everybody?" Hook asked him, and Ulf pointed down the row of arches, no doubt meaning that they had fled that way.

Another pair of steps echoed on the ramp, and they turned to see Tambor, clutching a screaming Stella.

"Stella!" Rapunzel helped her to her feet, shocked by the tears that streaked the girl's face. "What happened?"

"It's Pops," Stella simpered. "They shot him. He jumped in front of me and then there wasn't anything but blood-"

Rapunzel felt rooted to the spot. Back towards the way they had come were the sounds of more voices, more yelling.

"We gotta go," Tambor urged, and the two men pushed their charges in the direction Ulf had pointed. Stella stumbled, but Rapunzel helped her along, fighting her own urge to turn and find Eugene. They moved into a passageway on the right side of the sewer tunnel, and almost immediately, it split in three.

Hook balked. "Which way is it?"

Tambor was at a loss, but Ulf nudged them to the left. It would not be the only crossroads they came to, though on occasion they found grisly markers of the people that had fled before them, like blood smears on the walls or a forgotten shoe or jacket. They walked for so long that Rapunzel was sure that they were wandering beneath Midtown by now; Stella had been reduced to simply whimpering, and no one said a word.

In that quiet, it was easy to hear the thundering of footsteps that followed them. Tambor and Hook pressed the girls against the wall, raising their fists in case their pursuer had less than good intentions; relief swelled when it was Moose that appeared around the corner behind them.

He bled from a scratch on his forehead, but he looked otherwise unharmed.

"They got Rider," he wheezed, leaning on his knees, flinching as sweat dripped into his cut.

"What?" Hook said sharply, glancing at Rapunzel. The bottom of her stomach seemed to have dropped out, and she felt nearly faint.

"The police," Moose clarified. "They busted in like they owned the place… They started…" He gestured vaguely. "Rider started yelling, and those two fellas stopped shooting and ran for it. Rider tried to go after 'em, but the cops jumped on 'im…"

"Is he hurt?" Rapunzel pushed past Hook, hanging on Moose's every word.

"I…" Moose panted, shaking his head. "I dunno. Maybe-"

That was all Rapunzel waited around to hear. She took off the way they had come, not hearing the calls of the others urging her to come back.

If Eugene was hurt… There was nothing she would be able to do. Her magic was gone. That fear sent her heels grinding against the stone of the tunnels, her desperation filling her lungs as much as her breath. In her urgency, she paid no attention to where she ran, only knowing that she had to find Eugene.

Eventually, the sound of a voice made her slow. It was indistinct at first, but when she stopped, swallowing great gulps of air, she realized it was a woman calling her name.

"_Rapunzel!_"

She had to go to Eugene, but the voice drew her steps, her frame shaking as she realized who it was. A few strides left, than right, and she came upon her mother, shambling blindly through the dark passages.

"_Rapunzel! Where are you?_"

The echo of her voice was harsh as Rapunzel whispered, "Mother?"

Gothel turned, her eyes widening in disbelief. "Rapunzel? Thank God!"

Again, Rapunzel found herself smothered in her mother's embrace. She could hardly resist, overcome with shock that nearly forced her errand from her mind.

"How did you find me?"

"I was so worried about you darling," Gothel clutched her daughter, running her hands over her hair and face. "What is this? What happened to you? Did _he _do this to you?"

_He _could only mean Eugene. "What?" Rapunzel shook her head and pushed her mother away. "No. Of course not. I have to go find him-"

"No, darling!" Gothel gripped Rapunzel's wrist, her face a contorted grimace of terror. "You can't! You have no idea how dangerous he is!"

Rapunzel's brows came together. Perhaps they _weren't _thinking of the same person. "What are you talking about? Mother, I don't have time-"

Gothel had produced a piece of paper, offering it with the hand that did not hold Rapunzel fast. Frustrated, Rapunzel took it, skimming the words briefly before she recognized the handwriting.

It was Eugene's.

The words, though, could not be his. She refused to believe it. It was a letter demanding money in exchange for her safe return, addressed to her mother. There was no date, but she had seen his messy scrawl, and knew it instantly. The paper felt like one of the pages of her sketchbook, and sure enough, one side was ragged, as if it had been torn.

The third time still, she could not understand, though the words were in plain English. Her fear for him had been replaced by a sense of consuming, condemning betrayal.

"Eugene…" She whispered. Her eyes became clouded and unseeing, and without thinking, she obeyed as her mother began to pull her down one of the many tunnels.

"Come, darling, we have to hurry!"

Eugene had been good to her. He had fulfilled his promise, and they were so close to reaching something real, something magnificent, something she had no words for. She loved him, she knew it whenever she looked at him, whenever they touched. But the letter that she held in her hand was evidence that he did not feel the same.

It was one of the many dangers her mother had warned her about; that people would take advantage of her for being the daughter of a famed and wealthy singer. She had thought Eugene could never be one of those people, had her as something more than Gothel Morse's daughter, something more than a magical freak.

She had been wrong.

* * *

**AN**: The United States' day of Thanksgiving was celebrated on a few different days throughout history, but Lincoln was the first President to proclaim a national holiday on the final Thursday of November, which they celebrate in this story (Thanksgiving was quite a party in New York City back in those days,) but the actual bill declaring that Thanksgiving be celebrated on the fourth Thursday of November was not signed into law until 1941.

The other day, I found a 1979 reprinting of a Sears, Roebuck, and Co. catalog from the fall of 1909, published by Ventura Books. It is an astonishing look back to the turn of the century, when the dollar was difficult to earn, but the people worked just as hard. It's like peeking in the windows of a house to see what it was that people bought: standing pianos, china sets, clothing, toiletries, even firearms and horse-drawn buggies. Men's clothing hasn't changed much through the ages, but the illustrations of women's coats, skirts, and dresses really makes you appreciate the dramatic shift that fashion took ten years later, when flappers would dare to raise hemlines and reshape the female silhouette. What I noticed most, though, is the proliferation of hats. Once upon a time, it was considered unthinkable for anyone to leave the house without something on their head, while, these days, you don't see much of hats at all. I don't mean baseball caps or hipster berets, either, but the flower-strewn parade floats that women wore, and the slick-sided trilbies and bowlers for men. I, for one, think we should bring back the art of hat-wearing.

PS. Has anyone tried an Anastasia-based Tangled AU fic? Surely the parallels are easy to draw (the least of them being the dashing leading fellas) and an adaptation wouldn't be _too _hard. _I _won't be giving it a shot, since this story takes up a lot of time and energy as it is. Once _Anything _is done, it will be my last fan fiction for a while.

PSS. I wrote the song that Rapunzel performs; I had the idea to write one since the onset of the story, and I studied the other music as best I could to come up with something similar to songs of the day. It is called "Tangled Up In You", it is terrifically cheesy, and I don't think I'll be doing it ever again.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Before we get down to business, I would like to mention that I watched another brilliant film with Cary Grant, _Arsenic and Old Lace _(1944)_. _If you don't already know it, it's based on a play, and the majority of the scenes take place in the front room of an old house in Brooklyn. The cast of characters are what bring the story to life, and even if the scenery stays the same, the range of moods and antics make sure you're never bored. I like to think I'm learning a lot from old shows like these, the ones that have a lot of heart to make up for lack of budget or spectacular effects. Though you can't count out modern movies, either; I look up to the Coen Brothers as brilliant story tellers, with the ability to pull together a myriad of people and motivations into hilarious and multi-faceted stories. _O Brother Where Art Thou _is definitely my number one, and I can only hope to be just as entertaining some day.

I also finally went to see the Ansonia in person, for it's own sake, and it truly is a magnificent construction, and I'm glad I chose it as a setting in this story, as inconsequential as it seems. It has changed a lot since then, and I was reminded of the incongruities present in my own writing (such as the actual Ansonia, in its day, having six elevators instead of one), but you've really got to see it in person to know how beautiful the Ansonia is.

* * *

Chapter Sixteen

Rapunzel supposed she would be cold, if she could feel anything at all.

Her window was open to the emptiness, but no breeze came in to stir the paintings and pictures on her walls, or tug at the curtains or her bedclothes. The only sound she heard came from the radio in the front room, playing a merry tune that seemed like a personal affront to the girl's all-consuming melancholy.

She sat on the edge of her bed, blind to the colors of her quilt, not feeling the sentiment that came with wearing her same old clothes, surrounded by the same old walls. The pair of binoculars that had once provided so much entertainment were now neglected, hidden in a drawer of her vanity. Not even her mother's singing could provide any comfort. Rapunzel was empty of everything.

As hard as she tried not to think of him, her mind kept returning to Eugene. To his laugh, to his quips, the feeling of his arms on her shoulders. Now all of those memories were tainted with the knowledge that he'd wanted nothing out of her but her mother's money.

Rapunzel couldn't quite believe it, at first, but her mother's explanations had made everything clearer. Men had used girls for things much worse, and so it would be until the end of time. She had assured Rapunzel that she'd gotten off rather easy, considering the dangerous company that she'd been keeping with the Tagnoski. It was hard to think that even _they _had been a part of the conspiracy. She'd thought they were her friends, and that Eugene had cared for her just as much as she had cared for him.

"Rapunzel?"

The distraught young woman looked up to see her mother leaning against the door frame, her expression sympathetic.

"Come, eat something dear. I called for hazelnut soup. Your favorite."

It was not under Rapunzel's direction that her feet touched the floor and carried her out to the dining room. She felt heavy as she sat in the chair Gothel drew out for her, and stared at the bowl of soup without appetite.

Her mother's hand on her shoulder was gentle. "I did warn you, darling," Gothel reminded her gently. "I told you what was out there. The world is dark and selfish and cruel. Just forget about him, darling. Forget about everything."

The pain in Gothel's voice made Rapunzel pause and glance up at her mother. The way Gothel had said it made it seem almost as if she spoke from experience. Almost guiltily, the girl wondered what, or even who, had hurt her mother so terribly that she had no choice but to protect Rapunzel from the same.

Gothel released her and Rapunzel turned back to the spoon that had appeared in her hand. "I have to go out for a little bit, dear. Are you going to be all right?"

Rapunzel felt her mother's hand touch the braid at the back of her head. Her mother had seemed dismayed by the change, and even more disappointed by the loss of Rapunzel's gift. Her reaction hadn't been as dramatic as Rapunzel had expected, but that only seemed to make it worse. Even if her mother forgave her, she still did not know what she was going to do with herself. Everything she was, and all of the things she _thought _she'd gained with Eugene, were gone.

"Yes, Mother," Rapunzel answered finally, and heard Gothel's footsteps move to her room.

She needed to distract herself somehow, find anything to occupy her thoughts other than the harsh reality. On the table was a pile of newspapers that her mother had collected in her absence, and they would have to do. The hazelnut soup was flavorless as she pulled that morning's edition of the _Times _close to her, and, by habit, opened it to the _Arts & Culture _pages.

There was no point in her reading about the Diamond. She already knew how the story ended, and that she no longer had any use for the stone herself. Her powers were gone, and so were the Coronas, the only people who might have been any help in understanding them. Briefly, she thought of the Tagnoski; what had happened to them, and to the Duckling? Her heart constricted as she remembered Stella, and she wondered if they would still go through with their plot.

She hadn't told her mother about the plan to steal the Diamond, knowing she couldn't bear the inevitable disdain. Some small part of her even wished them luck, and hoped that if they succeeded, they would find somewhere to settle with their new wealth, out of harm's way.

Rapunzel skimmed the final installment of the Diamond's story without really reading it. It was already what she knew by reading the pamphlet at the Metropolitan, though beneath this article, there was a small photograph.

The caption named the people in the photograph as the Coronas; it was the last known picture of them before their untimely deaths in the Mediterranean. It was not very clear, which was expected of a printing in a newspaper, but Rapunzel could see the strong nose and paternal expression of the husband, and the kind, steady gaze of the wife. The Mrs. Corona held a child in her arms; the swaddled baby had enormous, curious eyes, and looked about ready to squirm out of her mother's grasp. Though the picture was in black and white, Rapunzel could see that the baby was fair-haired, in contrast to the darker parents.

This was the missing Corona child, according to the article. Though the Diamond had eventually turned up, there was no such fortune in locating the mysterious daughter, who seemed to be a bit of a miracle herself. She had only been born through the gift from the Ottoman Emperor, if the old legends were to be believed.

Rapunzel studied the picture absently. It was a little crazy to think that perhaps _this _little Corona would be able to help her, if she was ever found. Though she wouldn't be so little anymore; in fact, she and Rapunzel were the same age.

Now that she thought about it, Rapunzel and this girl actually had quite a bit in common. Rapunzel and her mother both hailed from Germany, same as the Coronas, and, up until recently, Rapunzel had been just as fair-haired.

Drawing herself short, Rapunzel shook her head. Desperation and confusion had pushed her to make almost delirious conclusions, but she couldn't stop. Instinctively, she knew she was drawn to the Diamond for a reason, and in the back of her mind, she knew it was the secret behind the origin of her powers. The missing Corona girl would no doubt have the same ability, since the legends were true. There _was _such a thing as magic.

Rapunzel now questioned things that had never seemed quite right. Gothel had never told her anything about her father, if she had one. Running her finger over the ink-filled pages of the newspaper, she almost believed that it was possible the man staring out of the photograph could be that very man, which would make the woman beside him, the woman who looked very much like the daughter she held, very possibly her mother.

There was no way to be sure. These people were long gone, after all, and Rapunzel did not have any reason to believe Gothel would have lied to her for eighteen years without any reason. But the woman _would _have had a reason. Rapunzel's magnificent gift, granted to her by the same Diamond that had taken it away. It seemed to be too incredible to be the truth, but Rapunzel knew with a growing alarm that everything was not as it seemed.

Her spoon, frozen halfway to her mouth, fell into her bowl with a clatter as Gothel returned to the room.

"Are you all right, darling?"

Rapunzel was at a loss for words, instead slowly getting to her feet.

"Dear?"

Her mouth was dry, her tongue stiff as she ran it over her lips. "I'm the lost daughter."

Gothel blinked. "What?"

Rapunzel's voice grew stronger. "I'm the lost daughter of the Coronas, aren't I, Mother?" Brows drawing together stormily, she added, "Or should I even call you that?"

Gothel's hand moved to her chest, and she laughed. "Listen to yourself, darling! Do you hear what you're saying? Sit down, you're just confused, everything is going to be-"

Rapunzel pushed away Gothel's hand angrily. "No!" She took a step back and pointed to the paper. "All my life, you've been telling me to hide, to stay away from people who would take advantage of me… But I should have been staying away from _you._"

Rapunzel turned and stalked down the hall to her room, and the older woman watched her retreat, momentarily stunned. "Where are you going? _He _won't be there for you. He's going to prison, to be punished for his life of crime. Didn't you read his letter? He doesn't care about you."

The girl opened up her closet, pulling out the small bag that had carried her clothes when they'd first come to the Ansonia, years and years before. Tossing it on her bed, she snapped, "That's just another lie." The words that Gothel said stung like hailstones, but only convinced Rapunzel further that this woman was not her mother. They were not the sort of things mothers said to their daughters. "You were wrong about the world. You were wrong about everything. You were _wrong _about _me._" She glared at Gothel, fists at her side, challenging her to get in her way. "My powers are gone. You don't need me around anymore."

Gothel stood in the doorway, watching Rapunzel move back and forth between the closet and bed, packing her things. "That's where you're wrong, dear."

A shiver ran up Rapunzel's spine, and she stopped mid-fold. Gothel pulled something from her pocket and let it dangle from her fingers; it was a slender, silver key.

"You are just the piece of a much larger puzzle, and I have waited long enough. You won't be going anywhere, not until I have that Diamond."

Before Rapunzel could stop her, Gothel closed her bedroom door, and there was a soft click. Even before her fingers closed on the handle, she knew that the door was now locked, and her tugging and grunting was in vain.

"I'll be back in a little bit, darling," Gothel called throatily, and a moment later, Rapunzel heard the front door slam. She did not like the tone in Gothel's voice when she had said she was the piece of a larger puzzle; what had the deranged woman meant?

Whatever it was, Rapunzel knew she had to leave. She would find Eugene, somehow, and she was shot through with another pang of fear. She had no idea what had happened to him the night before. Was he all right? He'd stayed behind to fight the two men that had broken in, and Tambor had said the police had busted into the speakeasy shortly after the rest of them had escaped. Her mother-or, rather, the woman who had been posing as her mother-said he had been arrested, but how could she believe anything Gothel said?

She wouldn't be able to find anything out while she was trapped in her room. Moving to her window, she glanced down the dizzying heights, and knew _climbing _down the Ansonia's tower was completely out of the question. She was too high up to call for help, but perhaps she could send a signal to the street below, by dropping a letter or waving her bed sheet. Running to her vanity, she yanked her binoculars from their resting place and turned her sights to the street below. She recognized Gothel's slender figure as she crossed the street to a waiting car. A hulking man stepped out of the familiar Alfa Romeo, and, with horror, Rapunzel recognized him as one of the two that had opened fire in the Duckling.

She dropped her binoculars and tried the door again, but it was just as locked as before. Pulling on her braid anxiously, Rapunzel felt the ridge of one of her many hair pins poking out. Inspiration sent her back to the vanity, and yet another drawer, this one housing a small box of yet more hair pins. Returning to the door, she knelt and tried to remember what Eugene had done in the basement of the Museum; she hadn't been able to see, but, surely, how hard could picking a lock be?

Alone in his cell, Eugene Fitzherbert paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair, into his empty pockets, and against the barred window that looked out onto the street below. He did not need to hear the cars passing by, or see the bedraggled state of pedestrians to know where the police had taken him, kicking and shouting, from the Duckling the night before.

The Tombs.

The jail complex in South Manhattan was every bit unforgiving inside as it was out. With the surrounding silence, he had plenty of opportunity to think over his dilemma.

How had the Stabbingtons _and _the police found the speakeasy? He'd never told Tatiascore where the Tagnoski were hidden, and they were always careful to never be followed. The police were a mystery themselves; had they Stabbingtons brought them along? Though he couldn't be sure that was the truth, since the twins had made themselves scarce soon after the law had arrived.

And where was Rapunzel?

He'd watch her leave with Hook and the rest, and could only hope that they'd gotten away safely. He hadn't heard about any of his comrades being brought in when the police had questioned him. Eugene's jaw still ached from the blows he'd earned by being uncooperative. The small relief he earned from knowing Rapunzel was out of the line of fire was stained by the knowledge that Elijah, among others who had been harmless friends, hadn't been so lucky.

His eyelids felt like sandpaper, and his heart was racing with anxiety. He hadn't gotten much sleep on the narrow bench that was the only furnishing of his tiny cell. He could do nothing but wait and worry; where were the Stabbingtons now? Were they still after Rapunzel? And what was in store for Eugene Fitzherbert, who found himself trapped with nowhere to go?

In his more lucid moments, he figured that prison was better than dead, at least. He couldn't afford a lawyer, and really had nothing for an alibi. The officials that were in the Tatiascore's pockets certainly wouldn't be coming to his rescue, and even the Captain, who had put him in handcuffs, refused to acknowledge him as anything more than a common criminal.

Which was what he was.

Maybe it was better like this, Eugene tried to reason, his mood turning more sour by the second. The Tagnoski would take Rapunzel home, where she would be safe, away from their derelict and lawless lifestyle. He tried to ignore the agony that accompanied that thought, striding back and forth restlessly.

"Rider, you got a visitor."

Eugene turned to face the cell door, his steps stilled by surprise. The officer fiddling with the keys in the lock looked equally startled, but said nothing more as he secured Eugene's wrists behind his back and guided him down the corridor. As they crossed the Bridge of Sighs that spanned the street and connected one building to another, he wondered, who would come to see him? None of the Tagnoski could afford to be seen by the law, or risk being taken in themselves, and there was nobody else he could think of that would be able to afford posting his bail.

His hope that it might have been Rapunzel faded as he was pushed into the bare but well-lit visitor's room. H did not immediately recognize the woman who waited on the other side of the glass of the booth the officer pointed him to. Eugene sat with no small bit of confusion, facing his visitor with a puzzled frown.

The tall, black-haired woman smiled at him, and he was reminded of a cat about to pounce. Her voice was sultry and musical when she spoke.

"Well, Rider, I must admit you kept us all on our toes for quite a while. But I am bored with playing games."

A movement behind the woman drew Eugene's gaze over her shoulder. Like stoic sentinels, the Stabbingtons waited against the opposite wall. The leering, sardonic joy they'd worn the night before was now gone; in fact, they looked drawn and worn, glancing at Eugene's visitor with something like fear.

"I am willing to offer you a deal, Mister Rider," the woman continued, snatching back his attention with her own sharp tone. In her hand, a folded sheet of paper had appeared. "Your money and your freedom, in exchange for your silence."

As he watched, the woman opened up the paper and revealed his own hasty scrawl and demands. A numb realization dawned, hand fast with dread.

Gothel Morse seemed to sense that he understood who she was now. "You have my gratitude for showing my daughter just how cruel life can be, Rider. She didn't believe me when I told her the world is full of people who hurt one another, and take advantage of young girls whose only fault are being too curious for their own good. But _you _can believe me when I say her heartbreak will be enough to insure she never leaves my apartment again."

Eugene's first thought was that Rapunzel _was _safe. Her mother would make sure of that, though how they'd been reunited, Eugene couldn't be sure. Had the Tagnoski taken her home, or had the police caught them as they escaped? The woman sitting before him did not seem very much like the mothering type. She looked just like her pictures in the paper, but the vicious glint in her eyes was not of a relieved parent. He'd seen an identical greed in the eyes of Scipio Tatiascore a hundred times before, and in his gut, he began to suspect something was very, very wrong.

"So, as thanks, I will grant your demands." Gothel wiggled her fingers, causing the paper to flutter. "I will pay your bail, and you will be a free man. You will have the money you need to go anywhere that you please. As long as it is far, far from here."

Eugene stared into the eyes of a cunning, plotting woman. She knew that he knew Rapunzel's secret, and would do anything to make sure he told no one.

He didn't intend to, money or not. No one would believe him, and he didn't want anyone taking advantage of the girl anymore than Gothel did. Rapunzel was safe, and that was enough for him, but if it was not enough for Gothel, then something else was at play here.

"So do we have an agreement?" Gothel said, making to stand, even though Eugene hadn't yet said a word. "I'll have the money sent to you, and you can leave town tonight."

It was clear to Eugene that she was not making a suggestion. It was an order, and it rang of something foul. Behind her, the Stabbingtons broke into identical grins, Ron patting a solid shape in his jacket pocket. Eugene did not need to see the outline to know it was probably a pistol, and a dark promise.

As Gothel moved for the door, a pair of officers seized Eugene's shoulders and began to pull him back the way he had come.

"Wait," he said quietly, his feet refusing to obey. "Wait, something isn't right-"

Rapunzel had spent her life locked away, and no matter what anybody said, Eugene knew she'd been happy with him. And now he knew the Stabbingtons had been working for Gothel all along; but what kind of mother hired mob thugs to find her missing daughter? Why hadn't Gothel gone to the police? Did she have something to hide?

Besides Rapunzel's magical gifts, of course. But they'd discovered yesterday morning that those were gone. Didn't Gothel know? And if Rapunzel was no longer in that kind of danger, what was the harm of letting her be free to do as she pleased?

Gothel herself had said that heartbreak would keep Rapunzel locked away in the Ansonia, and Eugene was overcome with a sudden fury. His ransom note had been written when he'd still been planning to use Rapunzel to get money, but all of that had changed. He'd hoped he'd never have to see that letter again, and he could act as it had never happened, and Rapunzel would never know. But now she did, and she would have to suffer his betrayal.

He would not let that happen. Angrily, he jerked himself out of the grasp of his escorts. "I have to go!" He yelled, trying to turn back, but they grabbed him again and urged him to control himself. "You don't understand, she's in trouble!"

He would not stand Rapunzel thinking he'd used her. He would not accept Gothel's money and leave New York. His feelings were genuine, and he would tell her the truth, and get to the bottom of his suspicion, even if he had to break out of the Tombs to do it.

Eugene's shoes slipped along the floor as the guards dragged him backwards over the Bridge of Sighs. They cursed and seemed about ready to hit him when a small shake ran the length of the corridor. There was only enough time for them to frown at each other before a loud explosion knocked the ground right out from under them. A brace of cold air, dust, and bits of building erupted where the bridge entered the second building.

A handful of moments later, shouts and screams made their way past the ringing in Eugene's ears, and he had to blink to find his sight again. He wasn't quite sure when he'd ended up on the ground, and beside him was one of his officers, unconscious. The second was nowhere in sight. Coughing, he crawled to the hole that had opened up a handful of feet where they had been standing.

Two floors below, he saw the ruins of the outer wall that ringed the Tomb's complex, and the smoldering burnt-out shell of an automobile that appeared to be the cause of the commotion. The building around it was scorched black and riddled with holes. Sirens and whistles began to wail, so loud that Eugene almost didn't hear the screeching of another car's brakes.

The Imperial careened into view, driving over the pile of rubble and sliding to a halt beside the ruined vehicle. Behind them, a green Bentley Three-Litre that Eugene didn't recognize pulled up alongside the wall. Tambor toppled out of the driver's side of the Imperial and shouted to Hook who was easing himself out of the back, "They should come running and hollering any minute now, you guys gotta bust in and-"

"_Guys!_" Eugene called, but he had to repeat himself to be heard over the noise. "_Guys! _What are you-"

"_Rider!_" The Tagnoski pair's upturned faces split into wide, crooked grins, and there was another cheer from the Bentley. Craning his neck, Eugene could see Vlad and Ulf waving at him.

Tambor was the one who answered, "We're here for you, what else do you think we're doing?"

Eugene had to be dreaming. People didn't just break out of the Tombs every day, and the Tagnoski would be the last people he would think of coming for him. He'd been working behind their backs for years, the traitorous son of yet another traitor.

But here they were.

The pounding of boots called his attention out of the hole and to the hall. Men in uniform were running towards him, and he could hear a similar advance coming around the corner of the building's outside.

"Let's go, Rider!" Tambor beckoned urgently, somehow blind to the twenty feet of open air between them.

"Are you _crazy?_" Eugene wouldn't jump. He couldn't. He'd break his neck.

Glancing up again at the officers, closer now, he realized this was probably going to be his only chance; they'd be sure to lock him up for good now that it looked like he was trying to escape. If they did, he would never be able to find Rapunzel and explain the truth.

Closing his eyes, Eugene eased himself over the edge of the crumbling concrete and let go.

He'd heard that falling felt peaceful, like you were suspended in time, or flying like a bird. He was determined to find the people who'd said those things and call them out for the liars that they were, because he crashed into the roof of the Imperial not a second after he left the bridge. The air vanished from his lungs as he bounced and rolled off, but Tambor and Hook were already inside, and the automobile was moving. Blindly, Eugene grappled for a handhold, hanging onto the driver's side window and crouching on the car's running board for dear life. His teeth rattled and his bones ached as Tambor backed over the wrecked wall and pealed into the street after their friends in the Bentley.

Eugene didn't have time to ask him to pull over and let him find a seat; police on horseback and in their own cars were already hot on their bumper. Tambor shouted something that Eugene couldn't hear.

"What?"

"I said we're _sorry!_" Tambor bellowed, yanking the wheel and veering around a truck going the opposite way. "We lost Blondie!"

There were too many things happening at once, and Eugene did not immediately understand. His arms and legs were burning. "_What?_"

"Blondie! Your dame! We lost her in the sewers and we couldn't find her anywhere-"

The Tagnoski didn't know Rapunzel had returned to her mother, which partially answered one of Eugene's many questions. The rush of air stung Eugene's eyes as he noticed they were racing north on Broadway. Ahead, the Bentley weaved in and out of traffic, pedestrians and other drivers alike careening out of their way.

The Bentley made a sharp left onto Grand, and the Imperial followed, Tambor slamming on the brakes not a moment too soon. The Bentley had halted. Mounted policemen urged their horses toward them from the opposite end of the block.

Finding that he'd lost most of the sensation in his hands, Eugene let go of the car and let himself hit the pavement.

"Get in!" Tambor shouted. "We'll take Hudson and circle around to Sixth-"

Already, Vlad had the Bentley in reverse, pulling up alongside them, and Eugene rolled to his feet, opening the Imperial's door.

"I need the car."

"What?"

"I said, _I need the car._"

Tambor and Eugene stared at each other for a long moment before the larger man stood. There was a silent and grim understanding in the set of his mouth, even as the sound of bullets whizzed overhead.

"We're meeting at Duncraggan," Tambor told him, stepping out of the way and allowing Eugene to swing into the driver's seat. Hook was already ducking around the other side to join Ulf and Vlad in the Bentley. "And we're getting the hell out of town."

Eugene nodded, already easing his foot onto the gas. "See you there, fellas."

The tires protested noisily as Eugene turned the Imperial around. He didn't look back to see how the Bentley fared, hearing sharp _pings _ricochet off of the bumper, and feeling much better now that he wasn't clinging to the side.

He squeezed into traffic, narrowly passing between two police cars as he struck south. He would have to lose the boys in blue before he could make his way back to the Ansonia, and without hesitation, he raced through a red light.

Horn and howls followed through the intersection, and he nearly sheared the front end off of an automobile headed eastward on Canal Street. He recognized the shining Romeo almost instantly, and only barely avoided driving onto the sidewalk in his confusion.

Where was Gothel Morse going? The Ansonia was uptown, and like any good mother, she should be eagerly headed back home to comfort her mourning daughter. Jerking left onto Walker Street, and then left again onto Centre, Eugene lost his pursuers to the rush of afternoon traffic. He pulled up onto the corner with Canal in time to see them blast by.

He was in luck, then; he could head to the Ansonia and explain to Rapunzel without worrying about interference from her mother. Still, the suspicion that had settled in his mind urged Eugene that something was not quite right, and he pulled out onto Canal to follow them.

Ron was speeding, which was no surprise to Eugene, but the way he swerved around other automobiles was uncharacteristically reckless. He tailed them from Canal and onto Market and all the way to South. The water was brilliant and bright, the city fading into a bleak and desolate waterfront.

Eugene still had time to turn around, but he already knew that he wouldn't. Gothel and the Stabbingtons had no reason to be in this area of south Manhattan, and he was going to find out what they were up to.

The Romeo slowed, and Eugene was forced to pull over before they spotted him. Slithering out of the passenger side door, he dodged behind other parked cars and trash cans until they came to a halt in front of a closed off wharf. Gothel's silhouette was the last out of the car, and as she stepped onto the curb, the twins forced the lock apart on the wharf's gate. The trio ambled in, and after a moment of hesitation, Eugene sprinted across the street and peeked around the edge of the fence.

The wharf was identical to many that lined the waterfront, a dank warehouse rising on one side, abandoned crates and barrels piled on the other. It was almost too easy for Eugene to dart behind one such mountain and creep along the narrow strip, the frigid water slapping noisily against the jetty and drowning out the murmur of voices.

He ran out of debris to hide behind, wedging himself between two boxes to watch Gothel shepherd the Stabbingtons to the end of the pier a dozen feet away. The wind shifted, and carried their words past him and back against the city.

"You've done a great job, boys," Gothel was saying, her tone mirthful and sibilant. "All I could ever ask for and more. That Rider will trouble you no longer."

Eugene couldn't see the Stabbington's expressions, but he could detect their uneasiness. He would be anxious too, staring down that strange woman. As Gothel shuffled with her handbag, she continued, "Now, it's only fair that I pay you for all that you've done."

Her arm straightened, clutching whatever it was she'd pulled out of her purse, and there was a loud, ear splitting _crack. _

Ron fell back before Eugene could comprehend the idea that the stage performer had _shot _him. Junior cried out and moved to catch his brother, but froze as the end of Gothel's revolver was leveled at his own chest.

"Nothing personal, boys, it's strictly business."

With a roar of fury, Junior threw himself at Gothel, having no qualms against striking the woman that had killed his only family. Without flinching, Gothel dropped her gun and snatched Junior's wrist. Eugene had been on the receiving end of one of Junior's rage-fueled fists, and knew that it would take nothing short of a brick wall to stop his swing, but here the singer had a hold of him as if he was no stronger than a newborn kitten.

Though Gothel did not seem to be doing anything, Junior was on his knees. Even from a distance, Eugene could see the graying pallor that had overcome the brute's face, and the short grunts of pain that punctuated Gothel's low muttering.

Eugene's confusion became alarm as Junior started to shudder and cough. What had happened to him? He couldn't believe that Gothel had the strength to reduce the fearless thug to an agonized puddle, but it became horrifically clear that she was not muttering. In point of fact, she was _singing._

Her voice was too low to make out the words, but the melody was insistent and haunting. The color drained from Junior's skin, and his whole body shook as Gothel drained him of life.

Eugene had no choice but to accept what he was seeing. He had seen Rapunzel work her own magic once, and here was her mother, with the same preternatural power, but doing the very opposite. It took all of his willpower to keep from bolting from his refuge and to the street; instead he began to sidle back the way he had come.

Gothel was a lunatic, that much was obvious, and being Rapunzel's mother did not grant her any sort of immunity. If she was willing to kill the very men she had hired, Eugene knew she would not hesitate to do the same to her own daughter.

His panic made him careless, though one misstep would be all it took to send him plunging into the Atlantic. Ropes and tarps shifted as his hands passed over them, his feet nudging crates and barrels. Behind him, even as Gothel's voice faded, he could still hear Junior's dying screams.

The fence was nearly in reach; Eugene hoped that the woman was still distracted when he made a break for the gate. A morbid urge made him glance over his shoulder a moment before he bolted, but the instant was filled with horror and remorse. Gothel looked out of place, dolled up like a woman of class in a day clean day dress, squatting beside two bodies on a dirty pier. She still held Junior's wrist, but he looked nothing like the domineering strong man that Eugene had known for the last eight years. He was dramatically pale and gaunt, his cheeks sunken in, and his suit looked too big. It was as if her song had snatched away years of his life.

Gothel straightened in a single, fluid motion that made Eugene jump. His foot nudged one crate that was integral to the pyramid of precarious pine boxes, scraping noisily against the ground. He had no choice but to break into a run as the entire construction tumbled down behind him.

He emerged onto the sidewalk just as an enraged shriek sounded; Gothel had realized she'd been discovered, and would be after him next. Eugene sprinted down the lane toward the Imperial, his thoughts consumed with one solitary goal: to find Rapunzel.

The grinding of tires against the road filled the air as he urged the car from its parking spot, turning around so sharply that two wheels were momentarily airborne. Eugene was a streak on Canal Street, scraping against the sides of other automobiles and not paying much mind to the pedestrians that dodged out of the way. A glance in the Imperial's rear view mirror was all that it took to prove that Gothel, at the wheel of the Alfa Romeo, was chasing him westward across south Manhattan. Her driving was even more wild than his, though both of them were propelled by equal measures of desperation.

Eugene's path brought him by the Tombs again, through a confused muddle of law officers that were scrutinizing the hole blown in the side of their building. He didn't have time to wonder if Tambor and the rest had gotten away when more police cars appeared behind Gothel. It was not a good day for that particular precinct when it came to catching and keeping Manhattan's most wanted.

Jerking right and onto Broadway, Eugene managed to put some distance between himself and his fleet of pursuers when a truck pulled out behind him. He tried to ignore the shriek of brakes of people he passed, the collisions that sprang up when he wrangled through intersections. More people were getting hurt because of him.

He thought he'd lost Gothel when he reached Forty-seventh street, but a metallic _pang _bounced from the passenger side door, and he had to swerve to avoid being rammed by the smoke-swathed Alfa Romeo. He swore he could see the woman's eyes burning with hellfire, revolver in hand.

Eugene veered right again, driving against traffic on a one-way street, before turning left onto Fifth. Columbus Circle loomed in front of him, and at the last moment, turned hard to avoid crashing into one of the many streetcars that made a circuit around the statue-topped column at its center. Gothel was not so lucky, and Eugene was awarded with the shriek of metal on metal.

Police were waiting when he left the Circle and raced down Broadway. He ducked as bullets shattered the Imperial's windows, knowing that Tambor and Hook would never forgive him for the automobile's battered state. Still, Eugene pushed past the barricade of police cars, sliding as one of the front tires was blown out.

Seventy third street seemed an eternity away. His driving had become so haphazard and automatic that Eugene nearly drove past the Ansonia, not even bothering to pull over against the sidewalk before leaping from the car. There were honks and shouts of anger, but he didn't hear them, pausing briefly to take in the scrutiny of a leering face carved into the hotel's archway. The double doors were flanked in darkness, since the waning winter sun did not reach past the building's imposing flanks.

Another series of cries met him when he ran into the Ansonia's gleaming lobby. The doormen at the check in-desk objected, "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

Eugene certainly did not look like he belonged, dingy and stained from his hiding on the docks, covered in dust from the explosion that had freed him from jail. Or at least that was what they would see if he held still enough for them to get a good look, but he was headed full speed toward the elevator without seeing them.

The elevator was occupied, the light above it indicating that it was already at the seventeenth floor. He punched the button angrily, swearing and turning to see a myriad of the hotel's occupants staring at him with varying degrees of shock and disgust.

A pair of men dressed in crisp uniforms approached, wearing scowls that would have rivaled the late Stabbingtons. Eugene knew he was moments away from being thrown out, and the elevator refused to hurry its way down and pick him up. Finding himself without an alternative, he avoided the swinging arms of the security guards and headed down one corridor that jutted off of the lobby. He still had the hotel's layout memorized, and knew that at the end of the chandelier-lit hall would be his only way up:

The stairs.

The squeak of leather shoes was enough to tell that the security guards were after him, so he did not hesitate before jumping up the steps, two at a time. His own footfalls echoed up the cavernous stairwell as it reached through the Ansonia's heights.

His thighs began to burn as he reached the tenth floor, and his labored breathing joined the chorus of the men chasing him. Leaning against the polished mahogany railing, he saw one of the security guards stumbling at the eighth floor, and the other still wheezing at the fifth.

Eugene nearly tripped as he urged himself onward, his knee biting painfully into the step in front of him. Swallowing a curse, he marveled that he'd even gotten this far. It was only when he heaved himself onto the twelfth floor's landing that it was all Rapunzel's doing; perhaps when she'd healed his hand at the Falls, she'd done back all of the damage of the years he'd spent being careless, drinking, and smoking, and he hadn't lit up a cigarette since that night-though he could have, really, _really _used one at that moment.

A stitch throbbed in his side and sweat dripped into his eyes and down his back, despite the November wind beating against the building. He no longer heard the security, but knew even if they'd given up, somewhere Gothel was still making her way to the Ansonia, and Rapunzel was still in jeopardy.

His insides were searing and his clothes felt drenched through when Eugene finally found that the stairs had ended. He resisted the urge to collapse, instead directing his lead-filled legs down the hall and to the elevator. Residents and guests squealed at the sight of him, but they were ignored. He could hear nothing but the rush of blood in his ears, and the monotone chant that had filled his mind as he was climbing.

_Rapunzel._

The elevator that serviced the Ansonia's central tower was much more accommodating than its downstairs counterpart. The doors slid open with a too-cheerful chime as soon as he called for it, and he hit the button for the seventeenth floor with a groan.

His aching legs refused to hold him up any longer, and he slid to the elevator's shining floor. In an almost dreamlike daze, Eugene took in the elevator with a painful attention to detail. The mirror on the back wall was smudged where he'd brushed it with his dirty shoulder, and he thought he could feel the tension of the cables that carried the small, mobile room running through his own exhausted muscles.

The small _ping _that signaled the elevator's arrival brought him to his feet again, and he was taken aback by the sight of the apartment door. It seemed too calm, too ordinary in dire situation. Staggering across the small space, Eugene's whole body slumped against the frame, the lions head knocker cool against his red face. His fist rose up of its own volition and pounded against the wood as he called.

"_Rapunzel!_"

Immediately, the door opened, and he knocked the suitcase from his dream girl's hands as he fell inward. Rapunzel let out a cry of surprise.

"Eugene?"

With a grunt of confusion and pain, Eugene rolled off of the bag and onto the floor. "Ugh," he managed, happy to see Rapunzel was still safe, though for how long that would be, he wasn't sure.

"What are you doing here?" Rapunzel was kneeling beside him, all concern and adoration, though _she _was the one in danger.

"We have to go," Eugene coughed, trying to get himself up again. Rapunzel smoothed his hair back from his forehead, biting her lip.

"Oh my gosh, what happened to you? You're covered in-"

He shook his head. "Your mom," he continued. "She's lost it. I watched her kill… _kill…_"

The color drained from Rapunzel's face. "She wouldn't, she _couldn't…_" Blinking twice, she spoke over his delirious ramble, seeming like she didn't quite believe it herself, "Eugene, she's not my mother."

That made him pause. "What?"

She helped him to his feet, saying, "She's not my actual mother. She's been lying all these years." She laughed sharply, bitterly, a sound that was entirely wrong when it came from her lips.

Rapunzel didn't know how long she'd been at the lock, but she would not give up. If Eugene could do it, then so could she; and she _had _to get away from Gothel somehow. Eugene's arrival had been unexpected, but reassuring. She wondered what had happened to him to make him so disheveled, but had no time to ask, instead trying to explain that morning's revelation.

"Look," she pulled him away from the entryway and into the dining room, where her soup still waited, beside the newspaper. "These people that I read about, the Coronas, the one who built the railroad and got the diamond and had a baby…" She brandished the article, and he frowned; he couldn't read it because she was waving it around eagerly. "That was me. _I'm _the baby. Well, I'm not a baby anymore…"

"No, you aren't."

Eugene and Rapunzel jerked around at the sound of Gothel's voice. She was stepping over Rapunzel's suitcase, her face marred by lines and a fearsome scowl. "You're all grown up now, dear, and you should know better than to let strangers into the house."

Rapunzel's fright vanished, replace by outrage. "We're leaving," she said sharply, standing straight, her shoulders back. "I'm not helpless anymore, and you can't stop us."

Without another word, Rapunzel stepped around the woman who had posed as her mother for eighteen years, and Eugene followed after, careful to give Gothel a wide birth. He felt like those ice-colored eyes burned right through him, and he didn't dare get close enough to touch. He didn't want to meet the same fate as the Stabbingtons.

"You only _think _you're not helpless," Gothel said slowly, and Eugene heard a familiar, heart-stopping _click._

Gothel had her revolver up and pointed at him. There was no more time for pleasantries.

"_Run!_" He shouted, and Rapunzel froze, half-bent to retrieve her suitcase; beyond her, the lift doors were opening. He gripped her shoulder and pushed her forward as the first shot rang out, whizzing over their heads, shattering the elevator's mirror. Rapunzel screamed.

There was another _bang, _and a hot, searing pain lanced through Eugene's side. Momentum send him past Rapunzel and to the elevator's wall, clutching his abdomen. A bright stain began to spread across his shirt.

"_Eugene!_"

A third and final shot bounced from the elevator doors as they closed, and it ground into motion. Rapunzel was at Eugene's side, but he convulsed and hissed in agony, starting to slide down to the floor again.

"Oh my gosh," Rapunzel whispered. "This is all my fault."

Gothel's shot had struck true. It had blown right through him, but he couldn't think through the white wall of pain. Eugene's sight began to darken, and all he could see was Rapunzel's face. Tears had begun to pool in her eyes.

She pawed at his shirt, moving his hands out of the way. "I… I can fix this," she started, almost hysteric. Eugene was dying, she could see his life slipping away and onto the bits of broken glass at their feet.

"Oh, gosh," she moaned. She had to sing. She had to save him. Even if her magic was gone, she had to save him. Somehow.

"_Flower, gleam and glow_…" Rapunzel said too quickly. "_Let your power shine..._"

Eugene knew her magic was gone. He knew he was going to die.

But, right now, that didn't seem so bad. Rapunzel was here, with him, and she was safe. She would leave Gothel far behind, and the world would be a brighter place with her in it.

"Rapunzel…" He said hoarsely, feeling his strength fade. He reached up to brush her hair out of her face, but suddenly, she jerked back.

"Eugene!"

Her movement had not been voluntary. To his horror, he saw that her long hair, out of its customary braid, had been caught in the elevator door when it closed. Now, it had snagged somewhere outside and was dragging her backward.

She cried out in pain, yanking and tugging to try and pull herself free, but to no avail. Eugene could see the muscles in her neck strain, and her slippers fight for purchase on the ground. He realized that if they did not do something, it'd be torn out by the roots.

Her look of terror, and the feeling of dismay at having gotten too far to let her happiness slip away now, spurred Eugene into action. He groped around for something, anything, and felt a large piece of broken mirror slice into his fingers. That would have to do.

Rapunzel's eyes widened as he stood. Grasping her hair in one hand, and his makeshift knife with the other, Eugene gathered what remained of his strength and jerked his hand across the now-brown locks she had once been so proud of.

They both fell, Eugene dropping the shard of glass, and Rapunzel collapsing on top of him. Even as she sat up, she could feel the slick, sticky warmth of his blood on her front.

"_Eugene!_"

She held his face in her hands, watching his eyelids flutter. His breathing was shallow, but he looked almost content. He almost looked like he could sleeping, but she knew he would never slumber so quietly.

Pain, a pain not at all like a needle prick, or hair pulling, or even Gothel's betrayal, seemed to tear Rapunzel's heart in half. Even as Eugene stilled, she could not, and would not believe he was leaving her.

She had to sing; she had to save him. But the words turned to ash on her tongue, and she felt no wellspring of magic rise up to do her bidding. Instead, a bubble of bitterly poisonous grief forced its way from her lungs and to her throat, a sob drowning in the sound of an arrival bell as the elevator eased to a stop.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

"_Heal what has been hurt…_"

The pair of armed men waiting on the seventeenth floor of the Ansonia exchanged anxious looks. Both had their hands on the pistols tucked into the holsters on their belt, their uniforms declaring them to be security guards of one of Manhattan's most exclusive hotels.

"_Change the Fates' design…_"

And up until that day, it had been a fairly routine and unexciting job. They hadn't been expecting a dirty, roughed-up man to come running into the Ansonia's lobby and lead them on a chase up the stairs. Neither of them said a word about how they hadn't been able to keep up.

Guests of the Ansonia passed by, their faces puzzled. They weren't accustomed to seeing the security guards either. The sturdy square buildings seemed almost like a fortress; they were an untouchable island of the Upper West Side. They had not shared the guards' alarm when one of the Ansonia's more famous residents had appeared, windblown and raging, hard on the heels of their first invader. Gothel Morse had said nothing as she pushed past them, headed to her own apartment at the topmost floor.

"_Save what has been lost…_"

Now they waited before the doors of the tower's elevator, suspecting that these incidents were somehow related. They could not find the strange man on any of the lower floors, and would go up to question Morse, and perhaps find their home invader.

"_Bring back what once was mine._"

The sound of a soft bell announced the lift's arrival, and they found their hunted man. But not the way they had expected.

The elevator's mirror had been shattered, dusting the floor with reflections of grief. A girl neither of them had seen before knelt beside the body of the man, who was now still, his front bright red with blood. They heard the girl's sorrowful song end as she looked up at them in a mixture of confusion and fear. Her face was blotched with red, and the guards could only stare, transfixed by shock.

A shriek in the hall behind them reminded the two men just what they had been hired to do. One shoved the other and hissed, "Call the police, George. Or the hospital. Or something!"

Rapunzel sucked in another breath as the hapless George stumbled away. She had heard them, but she didn't think she would be able to speak to the police when they came. There were no words for what had happened and the way she felt. And who would believe her anyway? And no hospital would be able to help Eugene. Though he was still warm, she knew he was dead.

The other guard had his back to the elevator, trying to calm the woman who had seen them and screamed. More people were coming to see what the fuss was about, and bile rose in Rapunzel's throat at the thought of becoming the fascination of morbid spectators. Still, that rage died in the empty void of her chest.

She lowered her head, resting her cheek against Eugene's nose. It would have been so easy to save him, to mend his wound and to leave Gothel far behind, but all of that had been snatched away in an instant. Everything that she thought she had for herself, for the first time in her life, was gone. She closed her eyes to mourn, to shut out the noise of other people, the ruin of the elevator, and her own disappointment, feeling the fall of a single hot tear.

The rapid jerks of her own breathing almost drowned out the tingle that ran up her arms to her finger tips. She did not see the gleam her own tear possessed as it landed on Eugene's cheek, like a drop of sunlight, before it flared and went out.

* * *

Eugene Fitzherbert was dead. Or, at least he thought so. As much as the fear of death had preoccupied the last eight years of his life, he'd never spent much time thinking about what came along after that. The sound of crying, however, seemed a bit out of place.

And he was strangely warm. He had felt cold in those last few moments with Rapunzel, the feeling leaving his hands and legs, in the wake of blinding pain. The pain was still there, but had been reduced to a throbbing ache in his side.

In fact, he could still feel bits of broken glass beneath his back, the cool tile on the arm that rested on the floor. And Rapunzel beside him, her body shaking with emotion. He loathed himself for making her so unhappy, but at the same time, took comfort in knowing that at least _someone _would miss him when he died.

The only problem seemed to be that he wasn't dead.

Cautiously, he opened one eye, wondering why it seemed to be taking so long. Rapunzel's hair, strangely short and messy, tickled his forehead. The blackness that had crept into his vision was gone, and he was acutely aware of a noisy hullabaloo starting nearby. The ache in his side was receding, and he would go as far enough to say that he felt immensely better. Hardly in any state to be dying at all.

"Rapunzel?" he asked hoarsely, knowing that if anybody would understand this abrupt change in plans, she would.

Her eyes flew open, and she blinked, as if she didn't quite see him. But that moment passed, confusion was replaced with glee, and she gasped, "Eugene!"

Any question of _why _he was still alive was forced out by the arms that laced around Eugene's neck and the lips that pressed fiercely to his own. A surreptitious hand went to the ragged hole that had been blown right through Eugene's torso, and while his shirt was still torn and caked with blood, he found that the flesh beneath it was once again whole.

Rapunzel had hardly released him for a breath when she told him in a harsh, conspiratorial whisper, "We have to get out of here." She let him go and straightened; unprepared, Eugene fell back, his head striking the floor. The cramped elevator spun, and pain radiated from behind his temples. He grunted in pain, and Rapunzel flinched.

"Sorry," she said, helping him to sit back up. The elevator and the hall outside still swayed, but Eugene could see one of the Ansonia's security men trying to shepherd people away from the gruesome scene. He, for one, could not agree with Rapunzel more, and there would never be enough distance to put between himself and the deranged woman upstairs that had shot him. Trying to remain unnoticed, Rapunzel and Eugene both stood, the latter with some difficulty. The initial burst of elation that had come with the realization that he was not dead had faded, replaced by a persistent lightheadedness, and the sensation of not being entirely in control of his limbs. Whatever miracle Rapunzel had performed seemed to have had its limits.

They sidled out of the elevator and were greeted by the scream of one onlooker, who was under the unfortunate impression that they'd just witnessed a man rise from the dead. While his assumption would have been true, it was not going to help Eugene and Rapunzel get anywhere.

"We should probably hurry," Eugene groaned, trying to manage something more than a shuffle. Rapunzel pulled his arm around her shoulder, keeping him upright as they half-sprinted down the corridor, away from the gaggle of people, and the shouts of the security guard. Eugene panted as they made their way into the other elevator, and belatedly Rapunzel asked,

"Where are we going?"

Holding his side-it had begun to hurt again-Eugene answered, "Duncraggan. It's the boss's house. In Yonkers."

"Yonkers," Rapunzel repeated, keeping an anxious eye on the numbers that ranged across the top of the elevator's doors, each lighting up as they passed down the floors. It seemed to be an eternity before they reached the lobby, but Eugene was grateful for the opportunity to get his breath back.

"The car's out front," he told her as they walked past still more people who skittered out of their way, frightened by their blood-streaked clothing. Beyond the Ansonia's doors they were nearly bowled over by the obnoxious sound of Broadway traffic, the sidewalk rife with people going about their day, ignorant of the drama that had played out so many stories above.

The Imperial was right where Eugene had left it, blocking the right lane of the street. The pair hurried across to it, ignoring the shouts of motorists who complained about the carelessness of pedestrians.

Eugene's vision swam as he threw himself into the front seat, the road ahead bucking and churning like the sea. His head felt like it was on fire, and he really, _really _needed a smoke. Flexing his fingers, he pressed his forehead to the wheel, trying to regain his composure.

"Are you alright?"

Rapunzel still stood beside the driver's door, her face anxious.

"Yeah, yeah," Eugene said thickly, trying to swallow the sickness that boiled in his stomach. "Just give me a minute."

Rapunzel could see that even if his injury was healed, Eugene was in no state to be at the wheel. Already, the Imperial looked like it had taken quite a beating, and she suspected many of the dents-and the flat tire-were probably the work of bullets.

Tambor and Hook were not going to be very happy with him.

"I'll drive."

That gave Eugene pause, glancing sidelong at Rapunzel for a moment before she began to push him unceremoniously towards the passenger side. "What?"

"I said, I'll drive!"

They heard sirens approaching in the distance, and Eugene did not have the energy to resist. Rapunzel leapt into the spot he had previously occupied, slamming the car door and studying the array of buttons and gear-shifts before her.

"Have you even _driven _before?" Eugene asked incredulously, though they both knew the answer.

"Uh, no," Rapunzel tried to smile reassuringly. "But how hard could it-"

The Imperial jumped forward with a shudder and she yelped, withdrawing her foot from the gas pedal and slamming it onto the brake. Eugene bounced and nearly brained himself on the dashboard.

"Watch out!"

"I'm sorry!" Rapunzel wailed, giving the gas another, gentler go. The Imperial sputtered, as if indignant to have someone so inexperienced driving it.

"It's not in gear," Eugene began, pointing to the metal shaft sticking out near Rapunzel's feet.

"It's not what?"

"In _gear!_"

Rapunzel's mind was racing, her heart pounding, and she struggled with the relief of knowing Eugene was alive, and knowing that this slight success could be snatched away again far too easily. The truth of knowing who she was, who Gothel was not, and all that still needed to be discovered was all that made her grip the gear-shift with a growl of frustration and give it a ferocious _jerk. _

The Imperial screeched to life, careening against the side of a bright Rolls Royce before racing northward. Rapunzel swerved left and right, panic overcoming the victory of getting the automobile into motion. Eugene nearly fell into her lap, reaching to steady the wheel as they blazed through one fortunately empty intersection.

"Slow down!"

"I _can't!_"

Rapunzel's foot seemed to have mysteriously transformed into lead, but slowing was far from her mind as police appeared behind them. The sound of a gun shot, and the _ping _of one of the Imperial's side mirrors as it was blasted off made her scream and turn sharply right, onto Fifty-first street.

Eugene realized that while Gothel would not be able to boast about killing him, her wayward daughter might. Though it seemed to be that Gothel was not, in fact, Rapunzel's mother; he would have to ask her to go over the details again, if they managed to get out of the city alive.

Rapunzel made a wide left, repeating apologies to the people who veered out of her way. She knew that Yonkers was somewhere north of Manhattan, beyond the Bronx, but getting there was going to be difficult.

"Which way?" She demanded, needing to shout over the sirens and bleating horns of other cars. Eugene had turned a drastic shade of grey, one hand covering his mouth as he resisted the urge to be violently ill. He could only manage to point with his free hand, gesturing for her to keep going straight on Columbus Avenue, before bracing himself on the seat and trying to keep himself from rattling around too badly.

Rapunzel thought she was starting to get the hang of driving, though the Imperial occasionally grumbled and bumped, and she had to struggle to shift into the proper gear. As they sluiced past Saint John's Cathedral, Eugene asked her to pull over. The police had fallen back several blocks south of them, but still she hesitated.

"Are you sure?"

He nodded carefully, ensuring his brain did not ricochet within the confines of his skull. "I think I should be driving now."

Rapunzel bit her lip. Color had returned to Eugene's agonized face, but she still worried for him.

"_Please,_" he begged, one hand already on the wheel, attempting to convince her with a half-smile. With a grimace, she slid out of the way, and Eugene coaxed the sorely abused Chrysler eastward through Harlem. They drove in silence until they crossed the Park Avenue Bridge, pausing on a Bronx side street as daylight waned.

Eugene was once again hunched over the wheel, trying to calm the strained racing of his own heart. He refused to let Rapunzel drive again, though there was little else that could be done to the Imperial; it was a bit incredible that it had gotten them this far already. Turning his head, he watched her reach a nervous hand up to her hair, brushing her fingers against the short-shorn locks. That had been all of his doing, to save her the agony of having it torn out by the elevator. Still, she'd been growing her hair out for her entire life, and to have it be so short now had to be something of a shock.

Rapunzel felt Eugene's eyes on her, and returned his gaze shyly. Her head felt lighter without all of her hair weighing it down; she recalled the terror of having it caught between the elevator doors. With a sigh, she closed the small space between them, her arms finding their usual place around Eugene's shoulders, and one of his secure about her waist.

They sat like this for a time, each sorting out the revelations that had come over the course of the day. They did not need to speak to know that they understood each other perfectly.

Their day was not yet over. With a blue twilight slinking in over the rooftops, Eugene resumed driving, hoping the Chrysler could keep itself together just a bit longer as they made their way north to Duncraggan.

* * *

Night was a velvet blanket over the small, sleepy town of Yonkers when at last they arrived at Duncraggan's gate. A low stone wall surrounded the estate, and Rapunzel could see the house atop its low hill, flanked by bare-branched trees. Ivy clung to the sides of the building, with windows peeking through like curious children awaiting a visitor. It was difficult to see much else against the darkness, though the house was a brooding shadow, and the crunch of the gravel drive did little to ease her nerves.

The front door opened as the car shuddered to a stop beneath the veranda, yellow light spilling down the front steps. It was Hook who came out and cried happily, "They made it!" A white streak shot out from behind him, barking noisily. It was Max, who was just as thrilled to see them.

Eugene eased himself out of the Chrysler wearily, turning to see Hook sweep Rapunzel up in a fierce hug. "Blondie! You're all right," the large man frowned, puzzled. "You got a hair cut."

"It's a long story," Rapunzel said, jumping as Tambor, stepping onto the porch after Hook, let out a long, heartbroken wail.

"My _car!_"

Eugene ducked the blow he knew was coming, circling around Tambor and returning to Rapunzel's side. He wass surprised, and touched, when Max pushed his cold nose against his hand, whining. Hook ushered them inside, where Vlad was waiting, as Tambor continued to grieve.

"About time, kids," Hook was saying. "But you're here now, so that's good. We got everything packed, and we'll hit the road tomorrow morning, stop in Chicago-"

Eugene could say nothing; he was too tired. But he was not surprised either. With the Duckling gone, the Tagnoski had nothing to keep them in New York. The Tatiascore were nothing without the Stabbingtons to come after him. He would finally be getting out, and Rapunzel would be with him.

"We can't leave."

Both Eugene and Hook were startled by Rapunzel's assertion, stumbling on the rug that ornamented the house's entry hall. Most of Duncraggan was dark and silent, so she lowered her voice to a whisper.

"We can't leave yet," she repeated. "There's something we… _I _have to do."

Rapunzel's mouth was set, and her level gaze did not leave anything to question. Eugene could see that she had been deep in thought on the drive from Manhattan, and she would not say something without being certain. He suspected it had something to do with Gothel, the truth of who she was, and no doubt, the Diamond. He remembered his own promise to her: that he would help her find the Diamond, no matter what.

He wished they could just forget about it. They had each other, and after very nearly losing _that_, could she really need more? But he knew how important the truth was to Rapunzel, and he would never forgive himself for going back on his word.

Eugene gripped Hook's arm. "Can you get everybody else together?" He asked. Hook seemed to sense the intensity of the two before him, and nodded. He shuffled up the stairs at the end of the hall as Vlad lead them into a parlor, turning on the gas lamps that adorned the walls. Wine-colored carpet gave the room a cozy air, and Eugene collapsed into one of the many plush chairs, Max posing at his feet. He felt hollow, somehow, and realized that he hadn't eaten a single thing all day.

The windows were closed against the night, and Rapunzel's eyes felt heavy. She was so tired that she almost felt like she was dreaming, like she would wake up in her bed in the Ansonia at any moment, with everything the same as before.

But she knew that could not be. Nothing would ever be the same. She stood before the parlor's dark fireplace, knowing she stood at a precarious crossroads, and her mind was already made up.

The sleepy steps of others made her turn to face the room again, bumping a circular table. Instinctively, she reached out to steady the short stack of books that rested on top of it, her fingers brushing over the cover of a _National Geographic _magazine. Absently, she perused the list of articles on its front; stories of Russia, Guatemala, and _The Land of the Quetzal. _

Eugene stood with a groan, making his way to stand next to her as the rest of the Tagnoski assembled in a haphazard circle, some sitting down, all with somber faces. Mr. Tagnoski himself chewed drowsily on a pipe, looking almost childish in the largest seat. She spotted Moose among them, and almost guiltily, remembered Stella, and asked if she too was at Duncraggan.

"She's sleeping," Moose answered with a low rumble, casting his eyes to the ceiling, meaning that the girl was dreaming peacefully somewhere upstairs. Rapunzel bit her lip, recalling the fate of Stella's father, Elijah, and wondering if somehow, his death was her fault.

She did not want to think about it at that moment, instead looking over the faces of her audience. It did not feel like she was at the Duckling, readying herself to sing. Instead of cheerful and red-nosed, the people who looked at her looked worn and sad, unprepared for what she was about to ask them.

After a long moment and a slow, steadying breath, Rapunzel began to speak.

"Hello, everyone," she swallowed. "I'm sorry. I know it's really late. And I want to say thank you. For everything."

She felt Eugene's hand on her shoulder, a gesture of support that meant more to her than he probably realized. She continued. "I haven't known most of you for very long, but you've taught me the most amazing things, and I don't think I could ever repay you. But I need you to help me just one last time."

Terrified of the things she was about to say, Rapunzel pushed back her doubt and began to explain everything; or, _almost _everything. She could not tell them about her magic, or how Eugene had been working for the Tatiascore when they'd met. But she told them all she'd learned about the Diamond, and the Coronas, and her realization from that morning. Their expressions did little to betray what they thought as she spoke, but whenever she stumbled for words, Eugene gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. She could not see his face to know if he approved of this confession, but it was not his decision to make. They probably thought she was delusional, thinking that she was the long-lost daughter of a pair of now-dead transportation tycoons that had lived across the ocean, in Germany.

"…And I know it sounds crazy," Rapunzel ended lamely, wringing her hands but refusing to look at the floor. "But I can't help but think that something… _terrible _will happen if she gets that Diamond." That was truth enough; Gothel had already proven her own wickedness, and Rapunzel herself had witnessed the Diamond's power. She did not want to think what would happen if it fell into the wrong hands. "I know you all want to get away from here, and I can't stop you if you don't want to help me."

The room was silent, Rapunzel's jury pondering the very strange case she had set before them. She had begun to fear that they'd given her up for crazy when Hook stepped forward, glancing around at his fellows before speaking.

"What are we doing?" He asked, spreading his arms incredulously. "Since when do the Tagnoski run away from a job?"

A murmur ran through the gaggle of gangsters as Eugene and Rapunzel exchanged hopeful glances.

"So they got the Duckling. Yeah, we've been shot down before. But we didn't run away from the Tatiascore when they took Rider's old man, bless his soul."

Eugene suppressed a wince as the others tugged their forelocks and mumbled words of respect. Hook waited for them to quiet down before continuing. "We've got a pretty lady who needs our help standing here. And another girl upstairs who didn't deserve to lose her pop. Elijah was a good man, and we won't take this lying down."

Another burst of assent went through the Tagnoski, louder than before. "So we'll do it for them, one last bang before we get the hell out of town. Won't we?"

Hook's last question was directed to Mr. Tagnoski, who had taken in Rapunzel's speech, and Hook's, without moving. He leaned forward and removed the pipe from his mouth and said, "_Co mamy do stracenia_?"

The parlor was suddenly alight with a cheer, men clapping each other on the back, more like a football team getting excited before a game rather than a group of mobsters preparing for a robbery. Vlad rushed forward to lift Eugene and Rapunzel off the floor with an embrace, the girl asking, "What did he say?"

Vlad returned them to the floor, his large face split by a grin.

"We'll do it, Blondie," he translated. "We'll help ya. What have we got to lose?"

* * *

AN

Duncraggan was an actual house in Yonkers, belonging to the philanthropist Eva Smith Cochran up until her death in 1909. I tried to look up actual properties that would have been around back in the day, and Duncraggan was my favorite; it looks sort of like a toy house. I took some liberties, though; Duncraggan was originally located on North Broadway (and has long since been demolished), but I moved it onto Warburton Street because I wanted them to have a nice view of the Hudson.

I had a helluva time resisting the temptation of moving them to the "Gold Coast" of Long Island, though, among such architectural wonders as the Hempstead House and Oheka Castle. However, that area of New York, and the decadence it possessed in those decades, is remembered better in F. Scott Fitzgerald's novels, such as _The Great Gatsby. _

PS-Did you hear about the animated short they'll be showing next spring? It's supposed to be Rapunzel and Eugene's wedding and her official welcome into the Disney Royals. I knew they were holding off on putting her on princess merchandise for a reason. I was unduly excited when I read about it. And I think Greno and Howard have other projects in mind; I know they worked together on _Bolt_, which I've never seen but heard good things about, and they did such a great job with _Tangled _that I can't wait to see what else this dynamic duo has in store.


	18. Chapter Eighteen

So I can only reply to reviews with P.M.s now? I see how it is, FF. Regardless, I do read every single one of them, and I am immensely grateful. I never imagined I'd have much success when this idea came at me with a baseball bat a few months ago, but I am glad for all of the support and critique I've received from my readers.

A warning: this chapter contains two consenting adults bumping uglies. Don't read it if you don't like it, I promise you won't be missing much story context.

* * *

Chapter Eighteen

Compared to living in the city, Yonkers seemed almost unnaturally calm.

Not that Rapunzel minded much. Despite the wind's chill, she liked to go out on Duncraggan's grassy knoll and smell the wood smoke that rose from the chimney, and watch the occasional motorist drive by. She and Stella did not have to walk far to reach the small town's main street, and it was there she felt farthest from Manhattan. Though they were strangers, the people of Yonkers were friendly, pausing to tip their hats or wish them a cheerful good afternoon. Standing at the crest of a hill, across the street from Duncraggan's gate, Rapunzel could see the world drop away, cut through by the cold, rushing water of the Hudson. On the far side of the river, the Palisades rose up, dark and brown sentinels crowned by even more forest. They had been at Duncraggan for three days, and she had never felt more at ease.

The sound of Stella's laugh, and Max's answering bark, brought Rapunzel back to Earth, and to unkind reality. The younger girl was dramatically quiet, and hardly said a word to anyone beside Rapunzel, but she seemed to take to their daily walks with healthy energy. She now clambered up the western side of the hill with Max in tow, upsetting rocks and dried grass along the way, clutching a collection of colorful dried leaves.

"Here you go, Punzie," Stella said, plucking a particularly large one from her handful and holding it out. "Do you have one of these yet?"

Rapunzel had been delighted to find that Hook and Tambor had taken care to bring her sketchbook when the Tagnoski had made their exodus to their boss's house. She'd been able to get a lot more drawing done in the empty hours that the others spent getting ready for the Gala, and that included studies of the trees and plants she'd only read about and never seen for herself.

Though Stella's offering was a simple specimen of common oak, Rapunzel beamed and accepted the leaf with care. "I don't. Thank you, Stella."

The girl grinned and waved for Max to follow, the trio crossing the street and passing between the two stone columns that framed Duncraggan's gate. They walked by Tambor's bullet-riddled Chrysler, and the empty space in the drive usually taken up by Mr. Tagnoski's Bentley, but the Tambor, Hook, and Vlad had taken off for Niagara Falls earlier that morning. Someone had to tell their Canadian friends that the Duckling was no more.

"I'll go put this away," Rapunzel told Stella as they stepped into the house, not a moment too soon. The rain-heavy clouds they'd seen drifting down the river now seemed nearly upon them, a wall of water heading toward the house before a bracing wind. "Why don't you wash up, and help me put dinner together later? The guys will be hungry when they get back."

Stella nodded, tottering down the hall, toward the kitchen as Rapunzel moved up the stairs and to the small room she shared with Eugene. Duncraggan was not the largest house in town, but it always seemed to be hiding something, and their room was no exception. The door was tucked beneath the stairs that went from the second floor to the third, but instead of being a cramped and oddly angled closet, the room was surprisingly airy, letting light in from one north-facing window to spread across brightly papered walls and a smooth wooden floor. The narrow bed was little more than a mattress on an ancient metal frame, and she was somewhat taken aback to see it unoccupied. Eugene had been exceptionally sleepy since their arrival, and she couldn't quite blame him-he had been shot, after all. She knew he couldn't have wandered far, and draped her coat over one of the aging bedposts.

A few steps from the bed was a low dresser that looked to be even older than the house, the frame that held the oval mirror on its top was chipped away in some places. Rapunzel thought it gave the furniture a bit of character, smiling as she opened one drawer and retrieved her sketchbook, finding a place between two pages for Stella's gift.

Her smile faded as she looked up stared at herself in the mirror. She was not the girl who had left the Ansonia three weeks before, blonde and bright-eyed and unknowing. Sure, her gaze was the same green, but it was more level now, tempered by risk and betrayal. She still had the same freckles, dancing across her nose in a petulant rebellion against the fashionable complexion. Wryly, she reached up to touch her hair, amused by the fact that it was probably the only stylish thing she managed, though it was only through a series of accidents and desperation. She did not look like the old Rapunzel, and did not feel like her, either. With her magic now surely gone, there was nothing that discerned her from any other girl in New York. That was the emotion that disturbed the otherwise contented air of Duncraggan: she did not feel like anyone at all.

The sound of creaking floorboards made her jump, and she turned her head to see Eugene standing in the doorway. Water dripped from the ends of his hair, and the collar of his shirt was damp, meaning he'd just come back from washing up, and sleep had only just barely released its hold. He flashed her a bit of a smirk, easing the door closed and stepping slowly to stand behind her, watching her close her book.

Rapunzel leaned into him as one arm moved about her shoulder, his chin resting on top of her head. She noticed he needed a shave, and gave a sort of half-giggle, half-sigh.

"What is it?" He asked, the rumble of his voice passing through his chest and against her back. She wallowed in the sound for a moment, appreciating it now that she'd been close to never hearing it again.

"Nothing," she answered quietly, then added. "I just don't know if I like this hair cut."

It was a silly thing to say, she realized, but enough to make him chuckle. He lowered his head and she felt his breath whisk past her ear.

"_I _like it."

She began to giggle again, and was about say that of course _he _would, since it was entirely _his _doing, but she was cut short by the sensation of his lips pressed against the bared skin of her neck. She was still cold from being outside, and he was astoundingly warm. Privacy had been something rarely found at Duncraggan, but now the house was eerily quiet, and she allowed her eyes to slide shut, feeling the tingle from his touch spread all the way down to her fingertips.

Eugene was glad to feel Rapunzel's slight weight on his chest, to smell her softness and ground himself in her strength. And, of course, the slight shiver that ran down her body in the shadow of his words was no small blessing either. Eager to elicit another, he shifted the neckline of her light green dress and dragged his teeth along her shoulder.

She rewarded him with a sensual whimper, leaning into the hand that moved to cup one firm breast. He marveled in the sound of her gasps and felt the rush of blood that made him want to throw caution to the wind, but something kept him steady and slow.

Rapunzel, however, was having none of that. She squirmed in his grasp until she faced him, her face flush but determined. He was worried that he'd done something wrong, but lost his fear when she seized the front of his shirt and dragged him down for a kiss. She bit his lip a little too hard, impatient with his gentleness, but Eugene did not need to be told twice.

Rapunzel did not want to be treated as though she was something fragile, especially not by Eugene. She'd proven to herself that she was no delicate flower, so it was with no small amount of pleasure that she felt the dresser bite into her lower back as he pressed into her, returning the ferocity of her kiss. The hand that had been on her chest now slid down to her rump, nearly lifting her from the floor as his hips forced her legs apart. She could feel his arousal against her thigh through the material of his slacks, and the first icicle of nervousness ran up her spine.

They separated to find air, and Rapunzel gave him an unceremonious shove backwards, towards the bed. The mattress squeaked in protest as he sat down, but Eugene ignored it, reaching up to find that she had managed to get a handful of his shirt buttons undone without him noticing. With fumbling fingers, he rushed to finish the job, his eyes not leaving Rapunzel, who struggled to pull her dress up and over her head with some measure of grace.

His shirt discarded, Eugene helped her fight free, exposing the short chemise she wore underneath. That, too, found its way to the floor before he paused, seeing Rapunzel shiver from something more than the cold.

"It's…" She swallowed, her voice low with embarrassment and anxiety, "It's alright."

Eugene's lips quirked, and Rapunzel felt her blush deepen. She knew that she loved him, but that only seemed to make what they were about to do-what they were doing-all the more terrific and terrible. For all her enthusiasm, she didn't know what she was doing, and was too humiliated to remember what had happened the last time they'd tried to make love. A hand cupped her cheek and guided her in to a slow and languid kiss while the other tugged her underwear down past her stockings.

Nearly nude, Rapunzel moved to straddle Eugene's lap, though he still sat with his feet firmly planted on the floor. She let him explore the curves and dips of her figure, her own fingers tentative as they traced along his collarbone and the muscles of his abdomen. She inhaled sharply as he touched the space between her legs, another shudder running through her frame as she pressed down encouragingly.

Eugene's hands were used to rough work, but he was careful now, listening to Rapunzel's suppressed gasps as he delved into her soft sex. The pressure in his trousers was almost too great, and his voice nearly cracked with the strain of his plea.

"_Rapunzel_."

She bit her lip as she went for the fastenings of his pants, the expression driving him more wild than any amount of foreplay could. No sooner did Eugene kick himself free than she situated herself above him, aching to satisfy the strange and slick emptiness that he'd stirred. Her fear and shyness had disappeared, retreating along with any coherent thought at all.

Eugene groaned against Rapunzel's throat, his fingers holding her hips as she lowered herself, breath catching as they met with expected resistance. They were both impatient now, but her hurry brought them together with a sharp, wet _slap._

Both cried out at the suddenness of it, Rapunzel a-quiver, feeling pinned and torn. Pleasure ran along her nerves like an indomitable fire, and Eugene's heavy panting was evidence that he was enjoying himself, too.

Eugene felt swallowed up, ensnared by her arms and legs and spirit, but even so surrounded it would _never _be enough. He eased her up and back down again, jumping to meet Rapunzel's heady moans. Her nails scratched lines into his back as she undulated, and electricity sprang in all of the places their bodies touched. She mumbled his name in the moments she could control what she said at all, but it was sweeter than any song he would ever hear.

He felt Rapunzel tighten, a hot-blooded coil that refused to let him go, and he was determined to stay with her until the end. With a growl that was almost inhuman with desire, he held her close and turned, throwing her down on the bed with only a hand behind her head to soften the landing. She didn't seem to mind, however, the next instant struggling to smother a cry as he hoisted an arm under her waist, keeping her still with another breath-stealing kiss. As demanding and quick as she had been, he was determined to take his time, no matter how hard her fingers dug into his shoulders.

The bed frame squeaked, and Rapunzel arched against his persistent grind. Her legs wrapped firmly about his hips, trying to keep him as close to her as possible. He released her lips to let out his own relieved groan, his forehead pressing into the cool pillow beside her ear as he gave a final, slow thrust.

"_Eugene!_"

It was a flash of heat so sudden that Rapunzel was frozen. Neither knew where they ended or where the other began, shaking in the grip of shared pleasure. It may have been moments or millenia before Eugene's arms buckled, and only the greatest of efforts kept him from landing on the girl beneath him.

Rapunzel wasn't sure if she was still breathing, or even if she was still alive anymore. Eugene knew very well, his brush with death seeming to make every touch, every whisper into something more. He was still dizzy when he pulled Rapunzel close, his embrace returned with warmth affection. He was suddenly very sleepy, but forced his eyes to remain open, frowning quizzically at Rapunzel's knowing smile.

"Hn?" He grunted eloquently, but she only laughed.

Soreness was already a dull throb that Rapunzel did her best to ignore, knowing that it was all worthwhile. Eugene looked very pleased with himself, like a dog who had successfully hidden his favorite bone, but Rapunzel had something very different to be proud of.

Her earlier doubt had been foolish and unnecessary. She had Eugene beside her as proof that she was not like any other girl in the world, because he would not have been there if she was. No one else would have broken free from years of fear as she had, or found a new home among perfect strangers. Neither of them were the same people they had been the day they'd met, and that thought was comfort enough.

Eugene mumbled something indiscernible as she kissed him again, laying on his chest, feeling the beating of their hearts. Somewhere downstairs, Stella was probably waiting, ready to start making dinner, but Rapunzel was quite sure she wouldn't mind waiting just a bit more.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

So, I have good news, and great news. The good news is that these two chapters will be the hard-won end. I just want to repeat my thank-yous to the past, current, and future readers of my fourth foray into fan fiction, who adore these characters as much as I do, and I'm glad we could share something good. I had thought that I'd be through once this particular story was over, but I have been once again strangled by inspiration, so after a little rest I'll be diving headfirst into _The Slippers and the Scarecrow_. I hope that some of you will see fit to tag along there, too.

The _great _news is that I did a little digging, and discovered that there are species of a certain kind of lizard that are native to the southern reaches of Spain, so this story may just have a happy ending after all.

* * *

Chapter Nineteen

The cold was brisk, the clouds heavy, and the air thick with excitement and uncertainty on that fateful first of December.

The inside of Grand Central Terminal was awash in gold, warm from the tides of people that rocked it to and fro. Footsteps echoed in the marble expanse, bouncing up the walls and to the high ceiling. Harsher light came in through the tall windows from outside, framing a small group of people as they stood in the middle of the train station, carefully avoiding each others' eyes, and those of passerby.

Most of the group were large fellows, their size only emphasized by the coats they hugged close, despite the warmth of the Terminal. At their center was a young woman, who looked even more nervous than her peculiar guardians did. However, they were serene in comparison to the man standing beside her, his foot tapping an anxious drumbeat, or his hands tugging on the fraying sleeves of his jacket.

"Eugene," Rapunzel said softly, watching the shoulders of the rest of the Tagnoski tense at the incessant noise of her beau. He didn't seem to have heard her, instead staring off into some unseen horizon. "_Eugene._"

He started, brown eyes bewildered as they looked down at her. "Huh?"

Rapunzel's hand rested on his forearm, and she offered him a reassuring smile. "Everything's going to be alright."

Eugene's returning grin was shaky, and Rapunzel couldn't blame him. She didn't feel all that confident herself. Her stomach had been churning with butterflies as they rode the train in from Yonkers; coming by automobile would have been impossible, since one was in ruins and both were no doubt being looked for by the police. It had been her first time on the railroad, but the experience was marred by knowing what waited at their destination. The Tagnoski had forgone fleeing New York, instead standing by the deal they had made with Governor Smith to assist at the Gala. Rapunzel wouldn't have a hand in any of that, but would be seated with Doctor Arceneau, who was a guest of the Gala, the same as he had been for the last several years.

_That _was what made her nerves boil. She would be sitting and watching the performances, waiting for the moment the Tagnoski struck. They wouldn't be able to stick by their original plan of violent distraction, since nearly all of Hook's explosives had been used to break Eugene out of the Tombs. Their new plan was something much more reckless and probably a little ridiculous; what little explosives they had left would go off as soon as Gothel reached the stage, and someone would have to run up and snatch the Diamond, set in its necklace, right off of her.

Rapunzel did not know how to feel, realizing she would be in the same room with Gothel once again. The same woman who had posed as her mother for eighteen years, and tried to kill Eugene. Through her cloud of hurt and betrayal, however, Rapunzel knew that the Diamond did not belong in Gothel's hands, a sinister suspicion fueled further by their last conversation.

Rapunzel glanced up at the Terminal's ceiling, where constellations had been drawn across the green-painted ceiling. She'd studied enough of the stars in books to know that the art that people barely noticed as they passed through the station was actually backwards-but a shift in the Tagnoski circle drew her attention back to Earth before she had a chance to point it out. The Doctor was striding toward them, dapper-dressed and cheerful, and no one could imagine he was an accomplice for their heist.

"Evening," he said loudly, to a return of somber faces. He was not discouraged, instead reaching a hand out to Rapunzel, who took it shyly. "Well, don't you look pretty as a picture. I couldn't have asked for a lovelier escort tonight."

A nervous giggle bubbled up and out of Rapunzel's lips, and their group moved towards the doors. Outside, the Doctor's green Oakland idled, and beside it, Moose waited behind the wheel of a grey-colored Grant. There was a shuffle as the Tagnoski all piled into the automobiles, doors slamming with abrupt finality. No one said a thing, though they all shared the same thought: it was too late to turn back now. Engines purred and wheels turned, easing the cars away from the curb as a soft and early snow began to fall.

* * *

The Metropolitan did not look like a museum that had resorted to spectacular stunts in order to win back the public's favor. The hall that had been trussed up for the Gala was brilliant, lit by reflections of crystal chandeliers and deep blue curtains that hung from the high walls. The floor had been polished to a shine, crowded with white-clothed tables that all burned with silver candles. At the end farthest from the door, a stage rose up, heavy with spotlights. It was now swarming with feathered and sequined dancers, finishing their number with flashing thighs and a chorus of high notes. They were all young and exuberant and flush with their dreams of stardom, and seeing them made Gothel positively ill.

So she sequestered herself in what little space they had backstage, smoothing her dress and arranging her hair in its natural glossy curls. Her face in the mirror was youthful, though she still looked older than her counterparts on stage. Still, the Stabbingtons had been exceedingly useful to her, even posthumously.

They were small fish, however, compared to the people who had come to the Gala. Some were important members of State, like the Governor, and others top performers, like herself. Some were simply wealthy members of high society, and she had known them for many years. None of those things mattered now as she turned to face a burly security guard, who carried a small, velvet-covered box in his hands. She accepted it with a predatory smile.

Facing the mirror again, Gothel almost hesitated before opening the box. Inside of it would be everything she had been working for since as far as she could remember. Before even Rapunzel had come along, before it had passed into the hands of the Corona family, and even back when it had been a hidden treasure of a dying empire, the Crown Diamond had been all she ever wanted.

And now, it was hers, at last.

Of course, the curators of the Museum were all quite sure it was only on loan, for this single night in December, but they were all present at the Gala, and would have very few worries once Gothel began to sing. Her slender fingers lifted the lid to reveal the softly lined inside, and her breath caught in wonder and insidious delight.

It was not difficult to see why the Diamond had been so precious to all who had possessed it, and its beauty was fuel enough for legends. The way the light reflected from its many facets also made it easy to see how it had earned the nickname _Desert Flower_, for beneath its surface, the stone seemed to bend and run in the shape of curling petals. Her hands shaking with now-realized dreams, Gothel lifted the Diamond and the golden chain attached to it from its cradle and fastened the gem around her own neck. She couldn't seem to bear letting go of it, brushing her fingers over its flawless surface obsessively. She marveled at how it seemed to glow with its own inner light.

With the Diamond hers, she would have no more troubles. Even though Rapunzel had disappeared, the girl was no longer necessary, or even a concern. Though she'd said she needed Rapunzel in order to work the stone's hidden magic, Gothel reasoned that she was skilled enough that she would manage just fine on her own. Any regrets at Rapunzel's flight, or the sour turn their once happy relationship had taken, was now long buried under hard-earned satisfaction. Gothel held her breath as she lowered the chain over her head, feeling the Diamond's weight like a bird tensed to take flight, wings beating in time with her own heart.

She heard the polite applause of the crowd for the younger women on stage, and smiled at her reflection in the mirror. While she enjoyed the praise enough herself, it would not be long before the people in the audience cheered for the very last time.

* * *

Rapunzel had torn her paper napkin to ribbons before the Doctor covered both of her hands with his own grizzled paw. Though he said nothing, there was something reassuring in his smile, though the girl could not return it.

She'd watched the singers on stage without really seeing them. Some part of her had registered that these young ladies had been the one that had exasperated her Gothel during rehearsals, that she had wanted to join in with so very long ago. To be a part of any group of ordinary young ladies had been the desire of a Rapunzel long past; she had found so much more than she would have expected, and would not trade her friends away for any semblance of normalcy.

Their table was an even distance from both the stage and the door, shared with an older society woman that wore the same sort of maniacal hat that Rapunzel had observed from her tower windows. Rapunzel hadn't been able to keep up with the quiet conversation between her and the Doctor, instead keeping herself rigidly poised, watching the Tagnoski move about the room in steady, servile circles. It had been strange to see them dressed in waiters' uniforms, pressed black pants and white jackets, ferrying drinks back and forth like usual, law-abiding citizens. Eugene made an exceptionally interesting figure, almost looking like he could be respectable; Rapunzel stifled a small smile as he passed by again for the umpteenth time and gave her a wink that would have been horrifically indecent if anyone else had noticed.

Eugene, respectable? Rapunzel couldn't imagine him without his usual rakish grin and sly sense of humor, and decided he looked much better when his clothes were disastrously wrinkled.

The lights flickered and the last notes from the performance faded away, and Rapunzel leaned forward, suddenly unable to breath. This would be their moment of action and decision, and from the corner of her eye, she watched Hook trundle towards the kitchen doors, to find the cloth-covered cart that bore the small stash of their remaining explosives.

The curtains at the back of the stage rippled, and Gothel emerged into the light.

She was beautiful, and for a moment, she was once again Rapunzel's mother. All warmth and protective sternness, dressed in a flattering sequined gown that seemed to bend like water, her gaze roving over the room with haughty confidence. Rapunzel instinctively ducked, but Gothel did not notice her; all feelings of daughterly affection vanished when she saw the Diamond, hovering just above Gothel's neckline.

Rapunzel was too far away to discern what it looked like, but it reflected the stage lights like a mirror, a winking star like all of the legends she had read about. But even if there had been no lights it would have shined with magic, magic that had once sang in her own veins before returning to the stone where it belonged. That Gothel was wearing it was definitely a bad sign, and she clenched her fists, waiting for the explosion that would send the Tagnoski running to the stage.

Gothel waited for the clapping to halt, and inhaled.

Rapunzel flinched, knowing she wouldn't be able to watch the mobsters tackle the woman who'd raised her.

But the explosion did not come.

The band beside the stage raised their elbows and instruments, ready to begin the show, but a twitch of Gothel's finger stilled them. Their heavy brows folded in consternation, because when she began to sing, it was not any tune that they knew.

"_Flower, gleam and glow…_"

Rapunzel knew it, however, and her confusion overcame her alarm at the lack of noisy disruption. Why was Gothel singing the spell that would heal her, when she was not ill? Nor did she look tired or aging.

"_Let your power shine…_"

The Diamond at her throat seemed to spark. The room had become very still, with every eye on the stage. Even the Tagnoski had been hypnotized by the spectacle.

Rapunzel pulled her gaze away, finding Eugene similarly frozen at his position by the kitchen. But he stood beside the cart of explosives, Hook hunched beside it; he had been working furiously to light the dynamite, but it refused to catch, and he was now as stiff as everyone else.

"_Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine…_"

The Diamond's gleam brightened so that it was almost blinding, rays of it falling across the room and brushing over the heads of onlookers. They were strange and sinuous, like vines of ivy lurking over the bark of a tree, looking to grab hold and leech life.

"_Heal what has been hurt, change the fate's design…_"

The tendrils of magic wavered between the transfixed people, and Rapunzel realized that was exactly what Gothel intended. What she had taken from Rapunzel, she would now take from them, and the Diamond would help her do it.

She wanted to shout at the unmoving Doctor, at Eugene, at Gothel, to make them stop. But her voice was stuck in her chest. All around her, people quivered, shining nooses tightening around their necks. She had to do something, anything, to make the singing stop.

"_Save what has been lost, bring back what once was-_"

Rapunzel could do nothing but stare, knowing that everything had been for nothing and they were going to perish, sucked dry by the woman who had raised her on lies.

But those golden ropes wavered, and Gothel's song stumbled. Something was happening, the light growing too bright; it burned Rapunzel's irises, forcing her to look away.

So she found she was able to move. All around her, people were collapsing in their seats, upsetting their drinks and tumbling to the floor. But she found her feet, and before she quite knew it, she was running up the steps, toward the light, and toward the sound of Gothel's scream.

The stage was running over with heat, blustering, nearly knocking her on her backside. Gothel writhed in place, the Diamond glowing against paper-thin, vein-wrought skin. She looked older than Rapunzel had ever seen her, her hair white as snow and her voice now hoarse with terror. The magic had retreated now, surrounding Gothel in a writhing nest of fire.

"No," Rapunzel whispered. Gothel's pain struck at her, and she knew the suffering was her own fault. Why couldn't she have been good? If she had never left the Ansonia, her mother would not be in such a fix, the Duckling would still be full of music, and Elijah would not have died.

But instead of Gothel's agony, she would have heard hundreds of others'. Gothel had intended to do this since before Rapunzel had even been born, and she had brought this upon herself. The Diamond's magic had never been intended for her, one of such selfish intent.

That, though, did not keep Rapunzel from reaching out into the column of whiteness, feeling what was left of Gothel slip through her fingers like ashes. With it went the light, and the terror, and the screams, and though the stage was still illuminated, it seemed very dark, compared to before.

A slight weight appeared in Rapunzel's palms, and she blinked away the after-images to find that it was the Diamond itself. It possessed nothing more than a glimmer now; it was like any other priceless, innocuous stone, its gold chain somehow disappeared.

Having never seen it for herself, Rapunzel brought the Diamond close, eager to see that _this _was what all the fuss had been about. Noises in the room brought her attention back out to the tables, however, and she saw that the Gala's other attendants had begun to stir. Some were shouting out in alarm, pointing at her, and she decided that it would probably be in her best interests to disappear.

There was a shout from the back, and Hook stood up in triumph, good hand raised in a punch over his head. He paused, seeing Rapunzel up on the stage, and no Gothel in sight. Eugene was quickly crossing toward her, confused, but equally aware that the Museum was not the place they should be. Men in security uniforms were making their way to the stage.

Hook darted away from his cart of explosives, just in time to get clear, and a loud, raucous boom filled the air. Dust and plaster fell from the ceiling, and the tables closest to the explosion burst into flame. People screamed and began to run every which way, and Eugene broke into a full sprint, meeting Rapunzel at the bottom of the stairs.

"What happened?"

"I don't know," she answered, though it was not entirely true. She did not want to speak Gothel's fate aloud, fearing that the Diamond would do the same to her. However, it was cool in her grasp, and did not seem intent on devouring anyone else that day.

A pair of rough hands seized them both, and they cried out. It was only the Doctor, covered in bits of debris.

"What are you doing? Let's get out of here!"

One of the curtains on the hall's walls had caught fire, making everything stifling and orange. People streamed out of side doors and beyond the stage, and it was easy to meld into the crush. Spilling out onto the street was a different story, however: police cars already began to populate the curb, followed by the splitting wails of fire engines.

The Doctor lead them away and down the block, where his Oakland waited. "Wait!" Rapunzel said too loudly, the explosion still ringing in her ears. "What about-what about the others?"

Had they gotten clear of the fires? Would they be caught and arrested? Had anyone been hurt, when they'd just been minding their own business and expecting to just spend their evening at a nice party?

The frigid winter set their lungs to burning, and, belatedly, Rapunzel realized that she'd left her coat in the hall. Eugene's jacket found its way around her shoulders, but before she could thank him, he asked Arceneau, "Where are we going?"

"The others will be all right," the Doctor answered, climbing in the driver's side. "And we need to get you," he jabbed a finger at Rapunzel. "Out of here."

All three crowded the front of the car, Eugene wedged in the middle, but Rapunzel refused to sit alone. He could not object, the Doctor pulling away from the curb and onto Fifth Avenue. It took a bit of cleverness to squeeze between police cars and other people fleeing the ruined Gala, Rapunzel gritting her teeth and clutching the Diamond to her chest, reliving the moments that had been Gothel's last. She could not tell if she shook now out of cold or shock, Eugene's arm around her some small comfort now that perhaps, they could truly say it was all over.

* * *

Arceneau was a decidedly more sedate driver than either of them, though he did get them away from midtown and the busier streets as quickly as he could. Rapunzel did not have much of an idea where they were going, but Eugene recognized the south-western streets of Manhattan, and frowned.

"Where are we going, Doc?"

He would have thought they would go north, to Duncraggan, where they were relatively safe, but now they were surrounded by the red-bricked warehouses of the Meatpacking District, still within easy reach of the authorities. Rapunzel's hand on his arm tightened, and he couldn't blame her. The stillness of the neighborhood was positively eerie.

Arceneau only sighed, pulling out onto Tenth Avenue. Eugene tried to remember the last time he had seen the Doctor look so tired, and discovered that it had been eight years before, the night his ship had arrived on American shores, and he'd picked Eugene up and out of the gutter, where he'd been left by Tatiascore's henchmen after a long and brutal 'introduction' to the family.

It was a sobering thought, knowing that he owed a great deal to the Doctor, though it was much less a material debt and more of a spiritual one. But Eugene was saved from that bit of brooding by the automobile's slow stop, and he looked ahead of them, seeing that a figure had wandered into the road. The snow that had fallen earlier was long gone and melted, but iced-over puddles cast the streetlights back up and into the gathering fog, making the street seem like something out of an ominous dream. The car straddled the tracks that ran down the middle of the lane, stretching down the blocks until they curved and disappeared from sight.

"Doc," he began again when the Frenchman still said nothing. Instead, Arceneau reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small, shining revolver.

Rapunzel gasped and Eugene stiffened, unable to move with the firearm leveled at his chest. The cab of the Oxford was suddenly very small and cramped, and he didn't notice the man in the street come up to the passenger window.

"Hello, love," came Claude's unmistakable voice, muffled by the scarf that obscured his face. "Nice night for a robbery, isn't it?"

"Eugene," Rapunzel whispered, hugging his arm all the tighter. If she expected him to have a plan, she would be terribly disappointed.

Before he could demand an explanation, Arceneau spoke. "This is nothing personal, son. I wish you had taken my advice before and hadn't gotten _her _involved in all of this, but that is all passed and you have something that Scipio needs."

_Her _no doubt meant Rapunzel. And that _something _had to be the Diamond. But why? The Doctor had volunteered to help the Tagnoski steal it, and the only Scipio that Eugene knew was Tatiascore. But he was laid up in the hospital, and out of their hair.

The revolver's safety clicked.

"Wait, _hold on_," Eugene said quickly, not too keen on getting himself shot again. He wasn't sure if Rapunzel would be able to bring him back a second time. "We've got the rock, the job's done. Why don't we turn around and head back to the boss-"

Claude's insidious snicker was like ice down the backs of their necks. "Boss, Rider? He doesn't answer to the same boss as you."

Arceneau's glance silenced the Englishman, but not before Eugene's brow furrowed. "What is he talking about?"

The Doctor's weariness was evident in his face, though the hand that held his gun was steady. "You're too much like your father. You're a very trusting man, but you can't see anything beyond what's in front of you."

"What's in front of me is somebody who needs to spit it out already," Eugene snapped, frustrated by fear and confusion. "You're working with Claude now?"

"I worked with Claude long before I ever worked for the Tagnoski, Flynn," Arceneau said evenly. "My debts have always been to Tatiascore."

Something sick coiled in Eugene's stomach. He hissed between his teeth, "All this time?"

"Since before you came here," Arceneau said with a slow, sad nod. "I wish I could tell you how sorry I am that your father became mixed up into it."

Eugene's heart skipped a beat. "My father?"

Claude, however, was growing impatient. "Come on, Doctor, we haven't got all night."

"_Se taire_," Arceneau said sharply. "The boy deserves to know the truth."

Before he could expound on just what that was, a rattling came over the Oxford, accompanied by the rumble of movement on the tracks ahead. A light cut through the fog blocks away, but Eugene knew what it was before the horn sounded.

Trains ran the length of the waterfront in the Meatpacking District, carrying goods from the ships and into the city and beyond. Tenth Avenue was infamous for the accidents that occurred along these tracks, and Eugene had no interest in joining their number.

Neither did Claude, it seemed. "The truth? The truth is that you're a bloody fool that thought he could turn his back on Tatiascore. Rider's old man took the fall is what happened, so your Polack friends wouldn't know. Now, poppet," he yanked open the door of the automobile and seized Rapunzel. "You're too pretty to be painting the pavement, so if you'll just come along-"

Rapunzel did not seem so inclined to go with him, kicking herself out of his grip. Arceneau seemed startled by the scuffle, and Eugene took advantage of the distraction, elbowing him and trying to wrestle the revolver away. He didn't have much success; the aging physician was stronger than he looked.

"You _bastard_," Eugene grunted, one hand on the collar of Arceneau's shirt. The other cracked his adversary soundly across the jaw. "Everything, all the _shit _Skippy put me through was because of _you?_"

"Eugene!" Rapunzel shouted, still caught up with Claude. He'd managed to pull her out of the car, but she would not hand over the Diamond. She kneed him soundly in the groin and he released her with a groan. "Eugene, the _train!_"

The locomotive came inexorably on, the vibration of its movement rattling the Oxford like a child's toy. But Eugene could pay it enough mind only to register that Rapunzel was out of its path. The rest of him was consumed by rage.

He had worked for the Tatiascore for eight years, under the illusion that it had been his father that had condemned his son to work off his debts. He had believed that had been the elder Fitzherbert's betrayal that had sent him to the bottom of the river, and had kept it a secret from the Tagnoski as he struggled to keep up with both families.

Arceneau had not denied Claude's words, but he held up a hand, knocking Eugene's next blow astray. His face was bloody, and it he spoke hurriedly, the sound of Rapunzel's struggle clear behind them.

"Your father was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I never meant for him to know I worked for the Tatiascore, but he did, and that is why they killed him."

So Eugene's father had not been a traitor. Claude's words had said just as much, but hearing it from the Doctor, his father's only friend, made it all the clearer. And all that much worse.

"He was your _friend,_" Eugene snarled.

"He was," Arceneau agreed. "But I didn't expect to see his son come along and take his place. I would have hoped you were quicker than he was."

Eugene did not know where the gun was when Arceneau fired. But he heard Claude's strangled cry, and Rapunzel's shout of alarm, and looked back to see her stumble away from the smaller man's body.

The train was nearly on them, and Arceneau gave Eugene a hard push toward the passenger door. Eugene reached out to grip the seat, determined to keep his balance and face whatever trick this man was pulling next.

The Doctor's weak smile was demented, brown and purple bruises already blossoming over his face. "Come on, son, don't tell me you _want _to get hit by a train?"

"What are you _doing?_" Eugene's fingers slipped, and another push sent him tumbling backwards out of the Oxford. The pavement stung his backside and hands and he stared up at the Doctor, who had made no move to get free.

"I've had enough of Scipio," the Doctor answered quietly. Eugene could hardly hear him over the train's roar. "I've had enough of living with the guilt."

Something in Eugene rebelled against the unfairness of it. He had only just learned of his father's innocence, and his own resulting absolution. And he was looking up at the man who had been the true cause of all of his suffering, and discovered how all of the pieces now fell into place. Arceneau had befriended him on Tatiascore's orders, all of those years ago, had made sure he became just another pawn in Scipio's games. He'd saved the Sicilian's life when he'd gone to the hospital, and no doubt had informed Tatiascore of the Tagnoski's plans to steal the Diamond.

He also would have been able to tell the Stabbingtons where the Duckling was, though Eugene never had. And why he hadn't been there the night of the raid. The man that had once been his only friend, and his only link to a father he believed he should have been ashamed of, grinned sadly at him, and Eugene was overcome with anger.

"No!" He tried to stand, realizing Arceneau's intentions. "You don't get to do this! You can't take the easy way out! It isn't fair-"

His words were swallowed by the train, and Rapunzel's small but strong hands were pulling him up and away. He could see only red, tripping on Scipio's body as the train collided with the Oxford. The scream of bending, breaking metal came before the fireball that was the crush of the car's engine, and they were sent sprawling to the ground. Black smoke belched over their heads, and the noise was deafening. Eugene threw one arm over Rapunzel's head, both of her hands still clutching the Diamond as though her life depended on it.

It seemed to go on and on, the train's brakes weaving into the noise like a demonic orchestra. The smell of burning things stung their eyes and made their noses run, and the freezing air did nothing to add any comfort. It was a terrible end to a terrible night, and neither immediately noticed when at last there was silence.

The quiet was short lived. The train's engineer shouted as he stumbled out onto the street, but he didn't seem to notice them. He was busy with the wreckage of Arceneau's car, but Eugene did not need to look closely to know that the Doctor had not survived. He was seized once again by outrage, but the shaking young woman at his side reminded him that there would be a time and place for that later.

Sirens began to call in the distance; more fire engines, no doubt. Eugene and Rapunzel stood and stared at each other, gaunt and haunted by the events of the night, knowing that it really was finally done.

Gothel was no more, and Rapunzel was free. The Diamond was her inheritance, and with it, she could discover who she really was.

The men who had dogged Eugene were all dead, and Tatiascore helpless in his hospital bed. He would never lift a finger for that man again.

Briefly, they embraced, glad to know they still had each other entirely intact, but knew they were better off somewhere else. It was easy to get lost in the groups of people that had gathered to see the accident, and it was not until they had slipped down a deserted side street that Rapunzel stopped, looking stricken.

"What is it?" Eugene asked, wondering just what else could possibly go wrong.

"It's Missus Kiel," Rapunzel answered, biting her lip and scuffing the bottom of her shoe on the sidewalk. "She's going to be so upset because we're late for _shul_."


	20. Epilogue

Epilogue

There wasn't much to be found in a life at sea for a chameleon.

He wasn't quite sure how'd come to be aboard the ocean liner, since he'd fallen asleep sunning himself and woken when they were already well out to sea. He was not much for swimming and did not have any idea which way to go anyway, and resigned himself to a voyage of discretion.

He'd hidden from enormous bilge rats and the even larger felines that hunted them; he had avoided being trodden on by sailors and shipmen alike. He'd thought he'd gained some peace when he'd sojourned to the ship's upper decks, which were enormous and clean and well lit, but found he was not as welcome among the other passengers as he would have hoped.

The days were long, and arduous, and exhausting. It was only his ability to change color to suit his surroundings that had saved the little lizard from becoming someone's lunch, or a green smear in the halls. There did not seem to be any relaxation to be had, until long last the ship reached its port of harbor, emptying its load of people out onto a strange and unfriendly looking place. It held no interest to the chameleon, who wiggled his way into a now-empty room, sun streaming in through its porthole.

He had not gotten proper rest in weeks, and now he was finally alone with a brilliant opportunity. The reptile perched before the circular window, sighing in relief as its warmth soaked into all of his limbs. Though there were noises outside that told him he should stay awake and alert, he could not help the exhaustion as it settled on his eyelids, insisting that it would be alright to rest here, if only for a minute…

* * *

Spring in New York City was always pleasant, and that year, it came approximately at two-thirty in the afternoon on the seventh of April, and lasted until around four. After that, the sun was blisteringly hot, the air astonishingly humid, and the only relief came in the shade of the _RMS Aquitania _as it waited for passengers to make their way on board.

Rapunzel could not quite believe that they would be on such a ship themselves in only a matter of moments, and it would carry them across the Atlantic, to Germany, to what remained of her family. All of it was in dusty records and bank vaults of course, but carefully worded letters had been sent ahead to the lawyers that had managed the Corona estate, and they awaited her arrival, to see if she really was the lost heiress they had been looking for.

Eugene had not been as eager to return to Europe, and she could understand why. He had nothing left there since his mother's death, and all of his memories were of war and destitution. But he would not leave her side.

And she would not leave his, even in the weeks of anger-fueled depression that had followed the Gala last December. He had been confused by the truth of his father's death, and the knowledge of Arceneau's betrayal, but he had emerged relieved and grateful. His own feelings of guilt were assuaged, and Tatiascore had vanished from New York City, never to be heard of again.

They now stood on a busy waterfront, surrounded by crowds of people coming and going from the Land of Opportunity, protected by a ring of their own friends. Hook and Tambor were grinning like proud parents, clasping hands with Eugene and telling him to stay out of trouble. Rapunzel missed what they said next, crouching down to embrace Maximus, his white fur gleaming in the sun.

"I'll miss you, Max," she said, giving him one last scratch under the chin. He whined, but she could only smile sadly. "I wish you could come with us, but I know someone else who needs you."

She straightened and found Stella waiting, arms outstretched. The younger girl was growing, and would need a new wardrobe of dresses for the summer, but there was no fear that she wouldn't get them. Mr. Tagnoski doted on her like a favorite grandchild, and Rapunzel was glad to see that she was going to be well looked after.

Stella sniffled as they hugged, and her eyes were red-rimmed. "You'll keep practicing, right?" She said firmly, and Rapunzel chuckled wetly.

"Of course I will. Next time we're together, we'll be able to put on such a show, we'll be famous the world over."

Wiping at her face to maintain some sense of dignity, Stella could only manage a nod. Rapunzel could say no more, finding herself crushed between Hook and Tambor, who were surprisingly more free with their tears.

"They grow up so fast," Hook wailed loudly, much to Eugene's embarrassment.

"You'll write?" Tambor asked, and Rapunzel nodded. She'd wished that Vlad and Ulf and the others could have come to see them off, but she would write them, too.

"Where are you guys going to go?" She asked. The Tagnoski had hinted over the winter that perhaps rebuilding the Duckling would not be their next step, and that they would try their fortunes elsewhere.

"Thanking of maybe heading west," Hook said thoughtfully. "Maybe California. There's bound to be something out there that we can find."

"Maybe Hollywood," Stella interjected proudly. "I've got the talent. Do you think I could make it?"

"I know you can," Rapunzel squeezed the younger girl's shoulder as a whistle sounded behind them. A man in uniform stood at the walkway that would take them onto the _Aquitania_, and the whistle had been the last call for stragglers.

Rapunzel smiled through her sadness, at the ache of leaving friends behind, and the joy of having made friends at all. Friends that would miss her as sorely as she missed them, and a home that they would surely be able to come back to.

"'Bye," she said, her throat too choked to say more. Eugene only offered a short, stiff nod, and his usual sly grin before taking her hand and leading her to the gangplank.

"Ladies first," he said softly, and Rapunzel sucked in her breath.

It would be another first step, the same as when she had left the Ansonia, had taken the reins of her life into her own hands. Now it was six months later, and she was about to do it again.

Excitement bubbled up between her shoulder blades and burst out of her mouth in a laugh, and she ran up the steps despite the ship officer's shouted warning. Eugene followed somewhat more slowly, catching her as she spun on her heel to take in the ship around them.

The _Aquitania_ was one of the biggest ships she'd ever seen, though she'd read about larger ocean liners and cruise ships in the newspapers. Below decks would be hundreds of rooms, some for public, others the private quarters of the passengers. People passed by her, talking and laughing and nodding their heads in greeting, and she couldn't wait for the chance to get to know them.

For now, though, she held Eugene's hand and they walked along the ship's length, toward the stern, as it began to pull away from the docks. Rapunzel tried to find Stella and the others in the crowd below, but they were lost in a sea of upturned faces and waving hands. She thought she could hear Max barking, but wasn't quite sure.

The sun was red and ruddy behind the buildings of Manhattan, making them seem to glow from within. Rapunzel reached a hand to her front, feeling the lump of the Crown Diamond beneath her blouse where it hung on the end of a simple silver chain, out of sight, but safe. She had not sung her spell since that fateful day in December, but hadn't had to. The Tagnoski had remained hidden in Duncraggen and read about the mystery of the missing Diamond in the papers, snickering and beaming, glad to have pulled off one last grand heist.

The sky was darkening and Long Island was a green mass to the portside when Eugene grew bored of the view, drawing his arm around her waist and pulling her close. He must have seen the trepidation in her gaze, and asked, "You okay?"

Rapunzel smoothed the front of his jacket, contemplating the buttons of his shirt before she replied, "I'm terrified."

He understood. "There's a lot that has probably changed, you know. You might not like what you find."

She nodded. Rapunzel didn't know a word of German, but had a book of it packed for studying during their voyage. Though the Coronas were long dead, she needed to know more, and would prove, somehow, that she was their daughter. She was no longer the same blonde she'd been as a baby, but bore a resemblance to her mother that was unmistakable. Rapunzel kept the newspaper clipping of their photograph tucked in the front of her sketchbook, studying the faces of parents she had never been able to meet.

"We'll be all right," she said finally, smiling up at Eugene. He seemed pleased, meeting her lips with a contented kiss. To her disappointment, he was quick to pull away, eyes tipped toward the sky thoughtfully.

"Though, you know, it's a bit unorthodox to have the honeymoon _before _the wedding."

Rapunzel had to suppress another giggle. She knew very well that he was teasing, but two could play that game.

"Wedding? Who said anything about a wedding?" With a wiggle of her hips, she was free from his embrace, leading him back along the way they had come. "I didn't say yes."

"But you didn't say no, either."

Rapunzel remembered Eugene's clumsy proposal quite clearly. He'd obviously taken romantic advice from a number of the Tagnoski, driving her to the city and having dinner at a restaurant that had been quite beyond either of their tastes. It was an obviously painful gesture and conversation that night had been awkward and strained, leaving Rapunzel confused and unhappy. Things had improved somewhat when they'd gone to Central Park, walking the trails in silence.

She'd finally been able to see the menagerie, the one he'd promised to take her to when they'd first met. The big cats and the bears and the other animals had made better company than Eugene, and she found herself often several steps ahead. He had been brooding that night, but she grew tired of asking what was bothering him and had resumed her observations as usual. She regretted not bringing her sketchbook, but knew she would be able to draw from memory once they returned home.

It was in front of the circle of sea lions that he'd finally mumbled something that she didn't hear.

"What?"

"I said," Eugene repeated, meeting her eyes with a tense, level gaze. "We should get married."

She hadn't quite known what to say to that, and had probably looked quite foolish, with her mouth hanging open in a little O of astonishment. He hadn't seemed satisfied when she'd finally mustered up a startled, "Maybe."

It had taken a few days for his injured pride to recover, and for her to find the right words to explain. Where was their rush? They had the world before them, didn't they? And a lot to accomplish before Rapunzel could even consider the possibility of settling down somewhere. She loved him through and through, though, and that would never change.

The sensation of her feet being swept out from under her brought Rapunzel back to the present, Eugene plucking her from the deck and into a bridal-style carry.

"Maybe is practically a yes," he was saying confidently, striding toward the doors that would lead them below decks, ignoring the stares of people they passed. "And it's not like you're going to be changing your mind."

He paused outside the double doors, a line appearing between his brows as he glanced sidelong at her.

"Are you?"

Rapunzel only laughed, drawing her arms around his neck and resting her head on his shoulder. That seemed satisfactory enough, and he made his way inside, maneuvering down the steps and through the halls until they found the one that would lead them to their own cabin. Eugene's voice took on a more suggestive tone as he finally set her down, fishing in his pockets for the key that would allow them in.

"Of course, there are some traditions that I don't mind breaking before we tie the knot." He handed it to her with a grin, and Rapunzel rolled her eyes as she turned to face the door. The lock clicked open like a greeting, and the small room beyond, while it didn't look like much, it would be all theirs for the voyage.

A bed rested against one wall, twilight peeking in through the porthole above it. A small set of drawers stood beside the door, and their bags had been settled nearby. No sooner had she taken this all in when something small darted across Rapunzel's field of vision and disappeared under the bed.

"What was that?"

Eugene was suddenly wary. "What was what? A rat?"

"No, I don't think so," Rapunzel said quietly, stepping into the room, eyes on the space beneath the bed frame. "It looked like…"

Eugene watched her drop to the floor, rump in the air as she looked under the bed. He was acutely aware of people passing by in the all, and he did his best to obscure the view without closing the door, just in case it was something worse than a rat.

"Eugene!" Rapunzel breathed in delighted surprise. "I think it's a lizard. A chameleon, actually. Come here, little guy," she tried to squeeze in under the bed, cooing to whatever she had found there. "Come on. I won't hurt you."

Her beau suppressed a groan; it had been bad enough putting up with Max for so long, and now it looked like Rapunzel had found a new pet. He was never a big fan of lizards, but he knew that she wouldn't be able to resist making a friend.

Eugene stepped in a little farther, crouching, trying to see around Rapunzel's frame with little luck. "A lizard, huh?" He asked, but she was still trying to coax it out from under the bed. Her behind was still up, so he settled back on his haunches, mouth twisting in a wry grin. Might as well get comfortable and enjoy the view, he thought.

After all, it was going to be a very long voyage.


End file.
